Two Queens, One Arrow
by GoldenSunshineLight
Summary: "What do two divorced, but not really divorced, people do when one of them comes back after five years on some island?" They were married. They hated every second of it. And then he disappeared for five years. Now he's back and different and they're...what are they now? (AU)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Oddly, if there's one thing I love in stories it's tension between two characters. And, from that, we get this little fanfic.**

 **It's an A/U where Oliver and Felicity were married before the Queen's Gambit was lost at sea. He's still going to be the Arrow, now it's just a little more complicated.**

 **(They are both a little OOC in this first chapter, but they'll get to be their usual selves in later chapters. Also, the first few chapters will be Felicity's POV. We'll see Oliver's POV in later chapters).**

 **I hope you guys like it!**

* * *

She'd gotten the call minutes ago and already she was in the car, racing. Racing. It had been over, done. Done. And now? Now it wasn't over anymore. Now it was more complicated than she could have ever imagined.

Everything around her was a blur, but her mind was full of the things she did not see. Beyond the barrier of her car, people were huddling around TV screens, Radios, cell-phone apps, Computers…There were dozens by now. Headlines. They were all the same. All the same… _Oliver Queen Alive_ ,

 _Billionaire Oliver Queen Lives,_

 _Oliver Queen: Sole Survivor of the Queen's Gambit,_

 _Five Years Later, Oliver Queen Emerges_

News cars were behind her, following her as she sped towards the home she'd wanted to run from so many times. Her phone buzzed continuously beside her, ringing. Ringing. Different faces appeared on the screen: Mom, Dad, Thea, Henry, Jane, Tommy. The road winded down to a single path and she ripped her right hand away from the wheel. Phone. Swipe.

"Open the gate."

"We haven't told him—"

"Open the gate," she repeated.

In the distance, the double gates began a lethargic separation, inching slowly apart. She hadn't hung up the phone yet and she could hear Thea breathing softly on the other end of the line. She didn't need them to open fully—just a little more. When she was sure that the car would fit, she pushed the gas-peddle flat, racing past the still-opening gates.

"Close the gate," she said.

"He keeps asking for you."

She hung up.

The car came to a screeching stop in front of the open double-doors. Thea was there, looking a mess of elated, worried, and unbelieving all that once. She wrenched the door open, not even bothering to close it behind her as he flung herself out of the car.

"How long has he been home?" She asked.

"Couple of hours—we tried to reach you, but—"

"In a meeting," she explained curtly, looking past Thea into the foyer, as if expecting Oliver to appear pale, haggard, and dripping wet, at any moment.

"He's asleep. It took quite a bit of convincing—you'd think after five years…" Thea trailed off and that caught her attention. She looked at the girl whose brother had just risen from the dead. The smile on Thea's face was sad and she didn't have to ask Thea why; Thea had yet to find out if the brother she'd gotten back was the brother that had set sail all those years ago. "You'd think he'd be…tired…"

Before she could respond, Moira appeared in the middle of the foyer, Walter stood behind her looking happy and uncertain. She was noticing that this was a trend—they were happy and uncertain. Five years was a great deal of time. Things had changed in five years, and he hadn't been here to absorb it—at some point, he'd have to absorb five years' worth of information.

"Felicity, Thea, get inside and close the door," Moira said quietly, as if her voice would somehow travel upstairs and wake her sleeping child.

Letting out a breath, Felicity walked back to her car, wrenched the keys from the ignition, and closed the door, leaving her phone on the passenger's seat, before following Thea inside. They walked in silence to the living room, where tea had been laid out. They each let themselves sink into the chairs and then simply stared at one another in disbelief.

It had been years since Felicity had sat with them like this in the living room. She came over often enough, but it was usually on business, or to see Thea. Moira's glazed blue eyes told her that she was thinking the same thing. Ever since the Gambit had gone under, ever since Oliver and Robert had been declared missing, ever since the company papers had been singed, they had all avoided the living room like a plague. It became a room haunted by the memories of Oliver and Robert—a room where the air was thick and the walls were suddenly closer together. Of course they'd used it over the course of five years, but never again like this—never all at once. Until now, there hadn't been any room for all of them—not with the air so thick and the walls so close.

All that hung in the air now, were questions: _What do we tell him? How do we tell him? When do we tell him?_ But even as they took up space, hanging heavily over each of their heads, they smiled. Because the air was bearable again.

The tea turned cold, untouched as it was in the pot. The sun went down. Somewhere beyond them, beyond the space where they could be touched, reporters crowded the massive gates: snapping pictures of the house in the distance, going over the facts, speculating on what was happening behind the walls of the impenetrable fortress. They had no idea that the family wasn't crowding their newly-returned son, brother, friend, husband; that he was quite alone in a room above their heads, and that they were quietly staring at one another below.

"He's got some—some scars," Moira said finally. Darkness had already settled over them and, at some point, the staff had turned on the lights throughout the house.

Felicity looked around at the others. None of them seemed surprised. "What do you mean?"

"He didn't ask us anything and, I suppose, that's why we didn't ask him anything, but _something_ happened to him in those five years. His body is covered in scars…" Moira explained.

Before she formed a complete thought, she was standing. Giving Moira her best smile of reassurance, she walked out of the living room. There was a moment, when her hand touched the railing of the staircase, where she hesitated. Did she still have the right? The right to walk right into his room and see for herself the story that his scars told? She realized that, in his mind, she did. Leaving her shoes at the base of the stairs, she ascended, slowly. She was here now, there was no need to race anymore. One. Step. At. A. Time.

And then she found herself in front of his door—the door she'd hated, trusted, and sometimes even loved. She remembered how to open it without making any noise and she almost laughed bitterly because she remembered it for the wrong reasons. And as she turned the cold knob, she was five years younger again, heart racing with irritation, exhaustion, and indifference (if such a thing was possible). Pushing softly, she slipped through the crack, not wanting the light from the hall to wake him. The room was pitch black and she took a moment to let her eyes adjust.

There was a small, blinking light on one end of the room that belonged to some medical equipment. She felt her lips stretch out into a smile, because the first thing that she wondered was whether the doctor had simply been finished with it and had left it on the far end of the room, or if the stubborn Oliver that she had known those many years had been the one to push the equipment aside. It was probably the latter.

She noticed then that he lay flat on his back and her smile fell away. He didn't sleep like that. Once she'd seen him, and noticed that seemingly insignificant detail, she couldn't look away. Her slow, caution was gone and she was racing again to the side of his bed. He wore a long-sleeved shirt and grey sweatpants, covering up whatever scars Moira had been taking about. But he didn't look at all like she'd imagined him to. He wasn't frail, ghostly. He was strong, muscular—so solid that she was sure nothing could move him. The lines of his jaw had become sharper—there was no more playboy-ish charm there. He'd shaved recently; there was a small wound on his left cheek where he hadn't been so careful. She reached out to touch it. She just had to make sure he was real…

There was a thud. Something had fallen. Someone had moved. And—and she couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe. She'd fallen, or been pushed. Oliver hovered over her, his hand clasped tightly around her throat—sky blue eyes full of a storm that she hadn't seen coming. Felicity wriggled her right arm free from between them, placing it on his cheek. "I—I—" _It's me_ , she wanted to say. She couldn't. "Shhhh…"

The storm cleared up briefly, before coming back with full force and he pushed himself away from her like she'd burned him. "I'm sorry," he whispered, running his hand through his hair. "I'm sorry," he wouldn't meet her eyes. Taking a moment to catch her breath, she sat up.

"It's alright," she assured him when her voice had returned. "I shouldn't have done that—touched you."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, now looking at her. His eyes were a lighter blue that she remembered, a clear blue that matched some ocean she was sure he'd seen enough of over the course of five years—too much of. "You're back from work," he said finally and she realized she'd been staring at him, trying to convince herself that he was real.

"I—It's been five years…" It wasn't the answer she'd wanted to utter. It wasn't much of an answer at all, but it was all that came to her.

His eyelids slammed shut, cutting her off from any silent response reflected in the seas of blue. He stayed like that so long, sitting up against the side of his bed, with his eyes closed, that she became worried. He stood abruptly, opening his eyes and extending his hand to help her up. She looked at it stupidly for a moment, before placing her hand carefully in his. It was rough and warm; blood flowed through his veins. He was real.

Before she could say anything, he pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. She returned the hug. They stayed like that for what seemed like ages. "I've missed you," he said.

And she laughed, the kind of laugh that induces tears. She laughed because he meant it. She laughed because she'd missed him too. She laughed because it might have been the first moment in which they both meant it wholeheartedly. Felicity pulled away, still laughing, just enough to place a kiss on his cheek. "I've missed you too."

Oliver pulled away enough to look at her, and she could tell that he was taking her in—checking if the details had remained the same. "You cut your hair," he said, freeing one arm and bringing it between them so that he could reach for her shoulder-length hair.

Another wave of laughter escaped her. "Yes. So did you."

He smiled, "A couple of hours ago."

"It looks good. You look…good," she said, burying her head under his chin to avoid having to face his reaction.

"You should sleep, come to bed."

"Oliver—"

He turned his head, pressing his cheek flat against the top of her head. "It's been five years; I know…Your clothes aren't in the closet. I noticed. Just tonight—lay down. Tomorrow you can tell me what I've missed. Good things I hope."

Her heart broke then. As terrible as it sounded, her heart broke then in a way that it hadn't broken when he'd been gone. She wanted to sink to the floor and cry, but she didn't. "Okay."

"It really has been five years; you'd usually never give in without an argument." It was an attempt to make her laugh, but she couldn't manage it just then, so she pulled back and tilted her face upwards to press a kiss on his lips. There wasn't much there—there never had been—but it was comforting somehow.

* * *

She couldn't fall asleep. And when she opened her eyes, she found him flat on his back, either staring at the ceiling, or his head tilted to look at her. When she tossed and turned and opened her eyes for the hundredth time, he spoke: "I'm sorry… I didn't really think it through. Would you sleep better somewhere el—"

"Stop. Stop apologizing. Stop caring what I need. What do _you_ need? Would _you_ sleep better alone? Do _you_ need to talk now? What do you need Oliver?"

"How fast did you leave?" He asked, tilting his head to look at her. There was no accusation in his voice, or his eyes. He simply wanted to understand.

"Three years in."

His expression flickered from confusion to anger and he sat up. "Three years…You were free of all of this and you waited _three years_? Why?"

Felicity could feel the walls going up in her head. She was ready to get angry, to fight with him like they used to. This was the perfect opportunity. But she took a breath, and let it go because he wasn't angry with her. She could see that he was fighting something else—something in himself.

"Because the first year I was angry with you. The second year I mourned you. The third year I—I wasn't quite ready to leave…I don't know. I couldn't." She sat up beside him, so that she could see his expression better in the darkness. Oliver looked at her silently, his face flickering from one raw emotion to the next: anger, shame, pain, admiration. "How much time did you spend regretting all of it?" she asked, because she knew. If she'd been stranded God knows where, going through God knows what, she would have spent every quiet moment regretting it, praying that if she ever got home, she could change it all. Live a life she _wanted_.

His hand hovered beside her cheek for a moment and then he dropped it. "Felicity I—" He looked down, closing his eyes, thinking his answer through, but Felicity didn't want him to _think_.

"It's alright. I just want to know—that's all."

Oliver met her eyes again, but she knew that he'd already thought his answer through. "I spent all of my time regretting it—regretting allowing our parents to push us into this absurd marriage, regretting going through with it, regretting fight after fight. I thought about each moment when I could have stopped it. There were so many moments where I could have stopped it. I thought about each moment when I could have put an end to it. I thought about each stupid fight—we never finished a single fight, did you know that?"

She knew. She'd thought about it too. "One of us always walked away."

"One of us always walked away," he repeated. After a long moment of silence passed, she let herself lay back and fixed her eyes on the ceiling.

Sometimes she'd imagined him coming back—being found—but she never imagined what she would do if that happened. She was always the accessory in those fantasies. He'd return, recover, and then promptly ask her for a divorce. She'd sign without a moment's hesitation, wish him well, and be on her way.

"I also spent time regretting how I handled the whole thing—how I treated you," he said suddenly.

Hesitantly, she placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched at the contact, but didn't move to shake her off. "You never treated me badly. We just fought a lot, that's all."

"Sometimes you tried…I never tried to make it work. I could have tried. I should have tried."

Oliver turned to look at her and she dropped her hand. She watched silently as he shifted, placing a hand on either side of her so that he hovered over her. His blue eyes restlessly scanned her face, searching for some reaction.

"Do you think—could we have? Could we have made it work? Loved each other eventually?"

She shook her head. "Sometimes I did love you, Oliver. I wasn't _in love_ with you, but I loved you sometimes. You—I don't think you ever loved me in any way, but to be honest, I don't know. Talking wasn't one of our strengths." He chuckled and she realized she'd forgotten what his laugh was like. She remembered liking it. It was one of the reasons she helped Moira enforce family dinners so strictly; he laughed at almost everything Thea said.

"No. Talking wasn't one of our strengths." He leaned down, pressing his lips against her forehead, before laying back down beside her. "We're talking now though…"

"Yes, well that's because you just came back from the—" she stopped herself because Oliver had returned, but Robert, hadn't.

"I came back from the dead."

"Yes…And we're not exactly married anymore. I mean—we are, now that you're alive and all. Are we? I don't really know how that works…what a mess that'll be to sort out…Doesn't matter—you're home."

"And you're not…" she couldn't decipher the tone of his voice and he didn't meet her eyes then; he chose, instead, to stare up at the ceiling. "I've kept you awake long enough. Sleep and we'll sort through the years I missed later."

"You should try and get some sleep too."

"I'm not tired."

"Is it because I'm here—you're not used to someone sleeping so close anymore? I could sleep in the guest room—"

"No. No, I'm just not tired." He met her eyes again, and gave her a small smile of reassurance. "I'll try," he added.

* * *

The sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains woke her that morning and she opened her eyes slowly to find Oliver still lying flat on his back, much to her dismay. When had he started sleeping like that? The sheets were thrown towards the edge of the bed and his shirt had risen up slightly. The ghost of a jagged line rose from his hip bone upwards, disappearing below the shirt.

Slowly, she hovered her fingers over the line, being careful not to touch him. His breathing was even, calm, and it gave her the courage she shouldn't have had. She placed her fingers on his skin, covering the scar. He didn't stir, so she dared to inch back the fabric of his shirt. Another scar appeared. It was thinner, but it hadn't faded as much as the first. Her fingers pushed at the fabric again but this time his hand caught her wrist.

"You don't want to see the rest. Trust me."

Felicity could feel his eyes on her, but she couldn't look away from the section of skin; it had been marred over the years by who knows what, or God knows who and she'd been here, going to work, hating his memory, coming home, mourning him, going to bed, losing hope…

"Are you—are you all right?" She hadn't noticed the water welling in her eyes until she felt the tears streaming down her cheeks.

He let go of her wrist, placing his fingers under her chin so that she would look at him. "I won't lie to you anymore. I'm not—not really. I need to take some time to figure this out—what happened to me; I need to process it. And I've been gone for five years, so life here hasn't stayed the same. I need to process that too. But I am all right because I'm here. I'm home now. So it's…complicated."

She nodded and rested her head on the pillow again.

"You're…different," he said.

"I don't think so. Maybe a little, but not much. I think it's just the situation—the fact that we aren't fighting or ignoring each other that makes you think that."

He shifted, turning on his side, his leg pressed against hers. In all the years they had been married, they'd touched only when they needed it—when they had ignored each other for weeks and it had been too long. They hadn't wanted each other, but occasionally, they had needed to touch. Now, all she wanted to do was touch him—not because she wanted him, but because she needed to make sure that he was real and that the Oliver that laughed at all his sister's jokes was still in there…somewhere.

She sat up, pushing the urge to place her hand on his face, his shoulder, his scars, away. "We should get ready and go downstairs. They haven't seen you since yesterday afternoon. They'll be worried."

"I'm here," he said.

"Yes, but…I've been here all night and I'm not sure I believe it. Stay with them today, so that they believe it." Without waiting for a response, she got up and made her way to his bathroom. "I'll just wash my face here then you can shower. I should head home and do the same before heading into work."

Once the bathroom door closed, she leaned heavily against it. There had been more emotion in the past few hours than there had been during the entire course of their marriage and it was all just a little too much. Felicity walked shakily towards the sink, avoiding her own reflection in the mirror as she splashed water on her face, wiping away mascara and make-up with the hand towel. She turned the water off and took time to breathe—just one, two, three…

He was home…five years and he was home…and it was nothing like she had imagi—what the hell were they supposed to do now? With one final breath, she pushed herself away from the sink, and re-entered the room. Oliver was there, standing awkwardly in his own bedroom and it almost made her cry. What had happened that he didn't even fit in his own home anymore?

"I should go Oliver. But—shower, go downstairs, be with them. I think Thea's staying home from school today…" She looked down at her hands, not sure how to say goodbye.

"I should stop by QC, and there's an old warehouse of ours in The Glades that I want to check—"

"Tomorrow, Oliver. Today, _they_ need you and you need them."

He bit his bottom lip, as if ashamed he'd even brought it up. She reached for the doorknob, but he placed his hand against the door. "Come back—later…there's still—we should talk."

"We will…we do that now," she joked.

He gave her a weak smile before removing his hand from the door and letting her walk out.

There were quick footsteps on the stairs and, by the time Felicity began descending them, she was met with a large group. Thea, Moira, Tommy, and Walter were all huddled at the bottom, staring up expectantly at her. She almost turned around and headed back up.

"Let her be. She has to get to work. I'll be down in a minute," Oliver said from the top of the stairs. She hadn't even heard him follow her out.

She turned to face him, mouthing a quick _thank you_. He winked and she didn't know what to do, so she nodded and finished her descent. They all stared at her, wide eyed, mouths opening and closing with questions they weren't voicing because he still stood at the top of the stairs. But they wanted to know: was he okay, did he say anything about the scars, what was going through his head? Felicity knew, because they were the same questions she still had. She glanced back at Oliver, strong and imposing, with eyes that were no longer at the mercy of his emotions. He controlled them now, hiding whatever he didn't want to face—whatever he didn't want them to face.

The door of her car shut and she grabbed the phone she'd left on the passenger's side. She called work first to let them know that she would come in late. Then she called Thea.

"What happened in there? You didn't say a word," Thea began after the first ring.

"He's…as all right as he can be, Thea," she replied, leaving the manor behind.

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know—he talked, but not about the five years…just—other things."

"Did you tell him?"

"I didn't have to. He already knew. He saw that my things were missing from the closet."

"Oh…"

"Listen, I have to go, but we'll talk later."

"You'll call?"

"I—I promised Oliver that I would come by."

Thea was silent for a moment. "I'll see you then."

* * *

The apartment had never felt too large for her. Grand windows provided a beautiful view of the city below and the open space just felt—full of air. That's why she'd chosen it in the first place. It was breathable. It made her feel free. Now, it felt too big. And somehow, it had to do with Oliver being back.

She hurried through to her closet, throwing a dark-blue pencil skirt and white dress shirt on her bed before jumping in the shower. More than anything, she wanted to let the water wash everything away, but she had somewhere to be.

Jane was pacing the length of her office—Oliver's office—when she walked in. The petite redhead practically ran towards her at the sound of the elevator closing. "I called about a hundred times Felicity! I stopped by your apart—"

"I wasn't home." Felicity side-stepped her needing the pile of papers on her desk to hide behind more desperately than ever.

"You _weren't home_? Your husband comes back from the—"

"Ex-husband."

"You never got divorced," she retorted. "I just want to know if you're okay."

"I'm…something. I don't know. I could just really use the work right now. And please delay any meetings for now. I don't really want any questions or anything for now."

"You said _now_ three times in one sentence."

Felicity let herself fall heavily on the desk chair. Jane took a seat on the other side of the desk. Her blue doe-eyes were so wide with worry that Felicity momentarily felt like she should comfort _her_ and not the other way around.

"I'm…whatever I'm supposed to be in this situation. It doesn't matter though because what matters is Oliver. He needs to be okay. You know?"

Her friend nodded. "I'm surprised you even came in today. Walter and Moira called in their absences for the rest of the week since yesterday. Meetings, contract signings, the whole company's been put on some sort of hold. Understandable. You should take off too… come back when everything settles down and—I don't know. What do two divorced, but not really divorced, people do when one of them comes back after five years on some island?"

A giggle escaped her involuntarily. It wasn't funny, yet she couldn't help but laugh. "One of us had to die—almost literally—so that we could have a _conversation_. That's sad. It's more than sad it's ridiculous!"

Jane looked around, her expression unsure. She didn't know what to say and Felicity couldn't blame her. Even she didn't know what to say.

"I'll get to work. Just try and fend off anyone who wants to _talk_ if you can."

Jane nodded, and promptly returned to her desk.

* * *

"Felicity. Talk to me," was Tommy's greeting as he breezed into her office, ignoring Jane's sounds of indignation.

"Tommy." Felicity held up her hand to let Jane know that it was okay.

"They told me you were there all night." Tommy wore jeans, a simple black shirt, and brown leather jacket. The usual. He looked just as he always did, walking in unannounced as he always did and, for a moment, she thought that maybe Oliver hadn't come home—that everything was as it had always been.

"I was."

"So?" He sat down on one of the chairs across from her desk, resting his elbows on the glass surface after pushing some papers to the side. "Did he—"

"He didn't say anything about the island Tommy. We talked about other things…us—the way we were. That sort of thing."

Tommy watched her carefully, almost as if he were afraid that he would scare her off. He'd never looked at her like that before. It was probably the situation that they were in. She hoped, against all hope that she hadn't looked at Oliver that way—though she probably had—it was a terrible way to look at someone.

"Are you—"

"I'm fine Tommy. Just trying to get some work done."

"Well…have you eaten?"

Felicity looked at the clock. 1:00 p.m. "No."

"I'll go get you some lunch then. I haven't eaten either. We could eat in here together." He smiled, but it wasn't his usual smile. It had that same careful little mask over it.

Felicity shook her head, leaning to the side to grab her purse at the foot of her desk. "We can go get lunch somewhere—It'll be good to get away from the office for a bit."

Tommy glanced to the right, where the wall, as nearly all walls in the building, was made entirely of glass. "I—I don't think that's a good idea…"

"Seriously Tommy, I'm fine. I—"

He shook his head, smiling apologetically, "No. That's not it. It's just that—the press is gathered around the building since they can't get near the mansion."

Felicity dropped the bag. Why couldn't they just let them be? The man just came back from the _dead_. Forty-eight hours was suddenly too much time to extend to the man?! "Ughh!"

Tommy looked down at his hands, "Yeah. I—uh—drove by your apartment and they're there too…"

She sighed, dropping her head, suddenly quite heavy, in her hands. "I'd almost forgotten what it was like to be married to Oliver Queen…"

"Look, don't worry about it. I'll go get some take-out, we'll eat, you'll work. If you want, I can come by later and take you home—or you can crash in one of my guest bedrooms. We'll work something out."

She tried her best smile, hoping it was enough. But Tommy didn't smile back; it just wasn't convincing. "I promised Oliver I'd go back tonight—to talk a bit."

"Then I could drive you there and, if you want to leave, give me a call and I'll come get you—take you wherever. If the press is _still_ around your apartment building you'll just crash with me."

"Thanks Tommy."

"Hey, what are friends for?"

* * *

 **A/N: So there we have it; Chapter 1.**

 **Going forward, you'll recognize some events from the show (slightly altered, of course), but there will also be new events that were never in there at all.**

 **Let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi guys, so here we have chapter 2.**

 **This chapter is still all in Felicity's POV with some recognizable moments from the first ep, but as the story progresses it'll move away from the canon a bit more and we'll see Oliver's POV as well. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

"It's late."

Felicity jumped, knocking over her mug, thankfully empty, and sending a pile of papers gracefully falling to the ground.

"Jesus, Oliver!"

He stood at the entrance of her office, rigid and awkward, just like he had been that morning in his own room. He crossed over to her desk in just a few strides, bending down to pick up the papers. He tried a smile as he handed them to her. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

Her heart still sat somewhere in her throat. How was it that she hadn't heard him come in? She took a deep breath. "It's fine. I just—I didn't hear you. That's all…"

"It's almost nine-thirty," he said.

She looked down at her desk. She picked up her cup to keep from looking at him a little while longer. "I know. The press was out there, so I figured I could out-work them."

He let out an odd huff that was, perhaps, supposed to be a laugh. She looked up just in time to see the remnants of a smile fade away. And then she turned back to her desk, shutting down her computer in silence because she didn't really know what to say.

Her phone screen lit up and Moira's picture appeared. She looked at Oliver, but he didn't say anything.

"Moira I—"

"Have you seen Oliver?"

He turned away, as if he'd heard, facing the glass that overlooked the city. It still didn't seem real—the fact that he was back. And he looked so different...There was a slight reflection in the glass and she could faintly see the blank expression on his face. That was also foreign to her; she'd only known him to be expressive. Sometimes he'd been too expressive. And so, maybe, that's how she'd lived with a man that rarely spoke to her; really, they didn't need words because everything was written on their faces. Now, she was still the same in that regard and he was…not.

"Felicity? Are you there?"

"Hmm? Sorry, Moira, yes Oliver's here at the office with me. I thought—when he came that he'd told you, or that one of you had driven him…"

Moira sighed in relief on the other end of the line, passing the message of Oliver's whereabouts to whoever else was in the room with her. "No. He just left. But I'm glad to hear that he's with you." Moira paused. "Bring him home when you're done…"

"I will. I'm packing up now. We'll see you soon."

"Thank you, Felicity."

She didn't have a response for that. What was she supposed to say? 'You're welcome,' just didn't seem right. "I—uh—yeah. See you soon."

Oliver only turned to face her once the phone call had ended.

"You didn't tell them you were leaving? Oliver, after what—you can't do that. Not for a while at least…"

"Tommy told me about the press. I told him I'd come get you…just in case."

She pressed her lips together, but let him get away with the evasive comment. "He shouldn't have done that."

"Why not?"

"Because, I'm perfectly capable of handling the press. I was—am married to you…or something… The point is, I know how to handle it. _You_ need to make sure that you take care of yourself Oliver. "

"I'm fine. I—"

"I thought you were done lying to me," she said, smiling to make sure that he didn't misinterpret it as an attack.

He smiled, genuinely, and she bit her lip to keep from looking too pleased. She didn't want to scare him—just like Tommy hadn't wanted to scare her earlier. He bent down, picking up her bag and handing it to her.

"Let's go."

They walked through the building in silence. Felicity was careful not to bump into him. Still, she couldn't help but think that there was something nice about it—walking through the empty corridors with him. They had done it so often before the island. It was one of the few things that she had actually liked about their marriage; working late, and then walking through empty halls before returning to the place that reminded them how unhappy their marriage really was.

Once they were in the elevator he pressed the button for the third floor, but she didn't say anything. They stepped out into the darkened IT department. Server lights flashed incessantly in the back. She watched as he walked around the cubicles. He didn't touch anything. "This is what you studied for…right?" He turned to look back at her.

Only then did it occur to her that he had never asked her directly. He'd known, of course, but he'd never heard it directly from her. "Yes…"

"Did you ever get to do it—IT—before I moved you to the 25th floor? And before your parents decided that medieval tactics of mutually beneficial marriages were what they were going to force on you?"

Did he just make a joke? She could feel that the corners of her mouth had stretched apart considerably. He did. A soft laugh escaped her. "It was rather medieval, wasn't it?"

He nodded. She couldn't be sure from where she was standing, but there was a soft glint in his eye…amusement?

"I still get to do it. It's one of the things I do here. I just…I get extra paperwork and I don't sit on the third floor…that's all."

Oliver looked away, "Really? I never knew that…"

"Most people don't. Don't worry about it." He still didn't look at her. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't even know what you were studying before you dropped out of college," she lied.

He turned and walked back towards her. "Business and Economics," he said, reaching around her to press the elevator button. He tilted his head slightly. He knew it was a lie.

* * *

The only sound filling the room was that of forks and knives clanging against plates as a bunch of people, who weren't really hungry, ate. Again, Oliver looked awkward, but Felicity tried to push that thought away.

Tommy was being his usual self, "We're doing the city tomorrow Oliver. A lot's changed since—a lot's changed."

Moira smiled warmly at him in thanks, "That sounds like a great idea."

Oliver did one of his fake smiles. She'd seen a lot of those. He'd gotten better at it though…

"Good," he said. "then I wanted to stop by Queen Consolidated again and that old warehouse in the Glades."

Walter set his wine glass down, "Oh there's time for all of that. Queen Consolidated isn't going anywhere, after all. Why don't you just focus on enjoying the day with Tommy?"

Just then, Raisa tripped trying to set a bowl of fruit on the table. Oliver caught her easily. "I'm sorry Mr. Oliver."

Felicity could see some of the tension disappear and she hid her smile with the wine glass. Raisa had always been one of Oliver's favorite people. He could argue with her one minute and then turn with a perfectly genuine smile towards Raisa if she happened to walk into the room.

And then he answered her in Russian and Felicity felt an ice cold rush through her whole body. Where had he—

"Dude, you speak Russian?" Tommy asked, smiling proudly as if Oliver had just won some sort of contest.

Thea looked over at her with wide eyes, but Felicity couldn't set the wine glass down.

"I didn't realize you took Russian in college, Oliver," Walter said calmly.

Felicity was almost grateful for his ability to turn the situation around so quickly. She set the glass down and she was still looking at her fingers wrapped around the glass when Oliver answered.

"I didn't realize you wanted to sleep with my mother, Walter."

She flinched. They hadn't told him?

Moira looked at Thea who shook her head. And then Moira set her eyes on her. Felicity shook her head as well.

"They didn't have to say anything," Oliver said.

Moira sighed, taking hold of Walter's hand. "Oliver, Walter and I are married…"

"We thought that—well, we believed that Robert was gone," Walter said. "There was nothing going on while your father was here."

Oliver nodded curtly, using his fake smile again. He stood, "If you'll excuse me."

There was a long silence and then Moira nodded.

"Don't forget about tomorrow," Tommy said.

Oliver patted him on the shoulder, paused to wink at Thea and then looked at her. Felicity wasn't sure what he was trying to tell her, or even _if_ he was trying to tell her anything at all. Eventually, he turned away, leaving them all to sit in an uncomfortable silence.

"I'll take you home," Tommy said once they were all gathered in the foyer.

Felicity glanced up at the staircase. She'd promised Oliver that they would talk, but tonight was not very good for that. There was plenty of time now, so it didn't have to be tonight anyway. "Yes," she said, turning back to Tommy "that would be good. Oliver brought me here though, so you'll have to pick me up for work tomorrow. My car is at QC."

"No problem. I'll bring you to work and then pick up Oliver for our day in town."

She hugged Moira goodbye, thanking her for the dinner. Thea held on a little longer, but let go eventually. "We should talk this weekend," she said.

Felicity nodded. There wasn't much she could tell Thea—at least not in regards to what she wanted to know—because Oliver hadn't said much, but she'd be there for the younger Queen sibling regardless. She kissed Thea briefly on the forehead before stepping away.

Moira was looking at the staircase now and Felicity followed her gaze to where Oliver had appeared.

"I know I promised—"

"It's late. Go home. Sleep. We'll talk tomorrow," he said.

"Good night Oliver."

"Good night Felicity. Tommy."

* * *

Felicity sat in her office, surrounded by three of the IT department's best.

"The firewall was fine yesterday," Henry repeated unnecessarily.

Felicity sighed, running her hand through her hair for about the hundredth time. There was something off. How could the firewall have been fine one minute and then not fine the next.

"I mean, it's not the end of the world. This small weakness still won't allow for a breach in the system, so we have time to figure it out without worry of being hacked… it's just—odd. This has never happened before," Grant said, tiredly. They'd been trying to figure it out all morning. Now it was almost four-thirty and they were still nowhere near done.

"Maybe we should move to the IT floor again?" Felicity said.

" _Again_? Guys, can we continue this tomorrow…we've been moving from the 3rd floor to the 25th floor back to the 3rd floor and back to the 25th floor all day. I'm getting tired of seeing the inside of that elevator," Grant exclaimed.

"And I'm getting tired of seeing Felicity's phone screen light up," Henry said jokingly.

Felicity glanced at the screen. Moira again. She sighed, taking the phone and shoving it into the desk drawer.

"Shouldn't you get that? What if it has to do with Ol—"

Felicity shut him up with a look. Yes, she should have gotten it, but she was trying to figure things out just as much as everyone else. How much time did she need to let pass before she initiated the 'what are we going to do about this marriage-not-marriage' talk? Should she involve herself in Oliver's life or should she just let him be?

Jane rushed in, looking a bit panicked, waving the phone above her head. "Oliver—was kidnapped and—"

Felicity shot up from her chair, " _What_?"

Jane shook her head frantically, "No. No. He's fine. Detective Lance is at the mansion now. You should—you should get over there maybe…"

"Tomorrow gentlemen," she said, rushing out of the room with one arm in her coat sleeve and the rest of the coat trailing behind her.

The drive to the mansion was a blur and she parked the car just as Detective Lance was leaving. He gave her a curt nod, but he wasn't sure if she acknowledged him or not. There was something about almost losing something so quickly…just after it had been found again.

Oliver walked into the foyer just as she entered. He stopped and stared at her for a brief second before hanging his head and sighing heavily, "Mom, I told you not to bother Felicity with this!" He called over his shoulder.

"Bother me—Oliver you were _kidnapped_ a day after coming back!"

"I was kidnapped too, Licity, thanks for your concern," Tommy said jokingly as he joined them.

She backed up, needing to do a full check-up with her eyes. She forgot about the wooden table at the center of the foyer. She tripped over one of the table legs and closed her eyes to brace for impact. Her back hit something. It wasn't as hard as she'd thought it would be.

"Felicity," Oliver said.

"Yes?"

"You can open your eyes now."

She cracked one eye open to find herself leaning on Oliver's outstretched arm. He pulled her up in one swift motion and she crashed into his chest.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She was about to answer him when she remembered why she'd rushed over in the first place. She pushed herself away from his chest, placing her hands on his shoulders. "You were _kidnapped_! Are _you_ okay? I mean—you look okay. You look great actually—I mean good—I mean you look like you're not hurt or anything."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tommy unsuccessfully try to hold back a smile.

"We're fine," Oliver said.

"We got lucky. Some guy in a hood took out the kidnappers—apparently." Tommy held up his hands and shrugged. "Oliver saw him."

Felicity blinked. She looked from Oliver to Tommy and back again. They both _looked_ serious enough, but they couldn't actually be serious…could they? "What _fool_ walks around in a hood in broad daylight, saving people?"

Oliver let out a half-laugh involuntarily before catching himself, but his blue eyes were the brightest she'd seen them in two days. She felt as if a small weight had been lifted. He'd laughed and she'd been the one to make it happen. And also, he didn't wince which meant that he wasn't lying about being unhurt—because it usually hurt when you laughed…right?

"I don't know, but I owe him a 'thank you,'" Tommy said, patting Oliver on the back. "I'll see you later. And don't worry, I'll handle the party details. You just show up. By the way, Felicity, you're invited, of course."

"Party? What party—haven't you had enough adventures for the week?"

Tommy looked as if she'd just insulted him. He held up a finger " _One_. One adventure. And it's his 'welcome home' party. It's important. You'll be there."

Felicity pushed back the urge to face-palm herself. "Goodbye Tommy."

"Bye guys."

And then they were alone. Felicity looked him over quietly. He turned slowly in a circle, and she knew he was mocking her just a little. "Are you satisfied?"

Maybe it's because he looked so good, with his dress shirt sleeves rolled up, the first button undone, muscles outlined just underneath the fabric. Whatever it was, she wasn't happy about it, so she snapped. "Yes Oliver, I'm satisfied that you're alive and well. I'll leave you alone now!"

She tried to storm past him into the living room, but he easily banded an arm around her waist. "Felicity. I didn't mean—"

You're being stupid she told herself. "No. I know. I'm sorry." She didn't look at him when she spoke.

"I—Uh…thank you for coming to check up on me." His arm was still around her waist and he had softened his tone.

It was nice to have him back, it was, but Felicity couldn't help but feel that things had been easier when they were not in the habit of speaking to one another. Now it was awkward—at least when they were alone—and complicated. They needed to sign the divorce papers as soon as possible. At least then, she would know where she stood—where they stood. Oliver's soft eyes still held her in place. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Maybe, once the papers had been signed and squared away, they could be friends.

"You actually saved me a few more bland elevator trips for the day." He looked confused and, realizing what she had just said, she winced. "Not that your kidnapping was convenient or anything—I mean I wish it hadn't happened at all. I hope it never happens again. It's just that—well, there was this problem with the firewall and me and the IT guys just spent the day staring at computer screens and the inside of elevators…that's all…"

Moira walked in, stopping when she saw them. Felicity could see her attempt to back away. Oliver's arm was still around her waist. Realizing that she had already been seen, she continued to walk towards them. Oliver released her and turned to face his mother.

"Felicity. I'm sorry if I scared you. I just thought it was something you needed to know," Moira explained.

"It's fine. I'm just thankful that Oliver and Tommy were unharmed."

"Yes. Thanks to that rather odd hooded man…just when you think the world can't get any stranger…"

Oliver cleared his throat. "Yes. That's over now. Felicity, will you be staying for dinner?"

Part of her wanted to. But that probably wasn't the wisest choice—not so much time with him. "No, I should probably go. I've got work to finish."

"You can do that tomorrow," Moira said. "You're not really going back to the office now, are you?" Moira looked at her son for help.

"I'll be working from home. I'll be fine. I really have to go."

She said her goodbyes quickly, not giving them time to protest and then she headed home. She needed a clear head.

* * *

"There's a…John Diggle here to see you?" Jane said from the doorway.

"Who?"

Jane shrugged. "A Mr. John Diggle."

Felicity pinched the bridge of her nose with her two fingers. "All right gentlemen, how about we give up the endeavor for today—or, keep at it, but that's it for me. I'm delayed on other work," Felicity said to the IT geniuses that were once again huddled around her desk.

They all stood simultaneously. "We'll figure this out," Henry said, patting her on the shoulder and sending her a friendly wink.

She smiled gratefully. "If you can't I'll be on the third floor tomorrow."

"See you Felicity," Grant called over his shoulder.

Henry and Mark waved.

John Diggle was tall, broad in the shoulders, muscular, and had a stern face of a man who'd seen too many things—the look, now that she thought about it, that she sometimes saw on Oliver's face. He wore a light blue dress shirt, black dress pants, and a black coat. She wondered for a moment if she'd forgotten a meeting or something.

"Mrs. Queen," John said as he extended his hand.

She flinched. No one had called her that in quite a long time. He noticed because his expression flickered to uncertainty before he regained his composure and resumed his serious expression.

"Mr. Diggle, was it?" He nodded. She shook his hand and then sat down, gesturing for him to do the same. "How can I help you today Mr. Diggle?"

"I'm Mr. Queen's bodyguard Mrs. Qu—"

"Call me Felicity."

"Right. Ehm, I'm Mr. Queen's new bodyguard. The other Mrs. Queen—his mother—hired me after the kidnapping incident."

Felicity pressed her lips together to do away with a smile. She thought of the medical equipment she had seen shoved in the corner of his room on his first night. Yeah, _this_ was totally going to work. Oliver was probably _loving_ being followed around.

"Right." She clasped her hands together. "And where _is_ Mr. Queen then?"

John looked down for a brief second and then resumed eye-contact. "I was hoping you could tell me Mrs. Qu—Felicity."

She felt her lower jaw drop involuntarily. "What do you mean?"

"I was driving him around. We had just introduced ourselves and then he jumped out of the car," John said in the most serious, monotone way possible.

How was it that Oliver kept getting into trouble? He'd been back less than a week and already he was being kidnapped and jumping out of mo— "He jumped out of a moving car?!"

"Yes. I stopped the car immediately and looked around, but he was just…gone. I thought he might've come here or called you, maybe."

Felicity didn't respond. She was trying to comprehend what the hell was happening to Oliver—to her life. Was she just destined to be called up constantly to deal with his adventures? She almost wished for the days when they only called her if he'd gotten too drunk and needed a ride home—almost. How much could one human being actually go through? Five years on an island, those scars that came from…where she did not want to know, being kidnapped and then saved by some lunatic in a hood, and now he was jumping out of moving vehicles.

"Felicity?"

"Hmm..oh! No, he hasn't called. I haven't seen him either…And I'm guessing he doesn't pick up the phone?"

"No." Diggle sighed and stood. "I'll go tell his mother then."

"Wait. I'll try to call him. Give me a second." She felt somewhat bad for poor John. Obviously Moira hadn't prepared him for Oliver. She pressed in the number 4, ignoring the little voice in her head that snidely judged her for having put him on her speed dial again so quickly.

He picked up on the third ring. "Felicity? Is everything okay?"

She swiveled her chair to an angle so that she wasn't directly looking at John. "Hi. No. Everything's fine…" She suddenly regretted calling him. If she called him out now then perhaps he wouldn't trust her, or pick up the phone next time. There had never been that much trust between them to begin with. They were sort of building it from scratch and it had only been three days— _far_ from enough time for a misstep.

"Good," he said. She heard a hollow echo in the background. He was obviously in an open space.

"I just—how are you?"

"I'm good." There was a pause, "It's good to hear you…How are you?"

"I'm—" she took a breath, "sorry."

"For what?"

"I called because you jumped out of a moving car and now your bodyguard's here and I don't want your mom to yell at him, so I told him I'd try and call you."

Silence. Felicity could practically _feel_ the tension on the other side of the line. It suddenly felt like they were back to where they had been five years ago.

"He's at the office?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be there soon." And before Felicity could say anything else, the line went dead.

Felicity sighed, hoping that she didn't look _too_ disappointed to poor John who'd unknowingly walked into a situation that was far more complicated than he could have ever anticipated. "He's on his way."

The serious look on John's face had turned into something that wasn't quite pity, but it was close. "I didn't mean to—"

She waved him off, "It's fine. He'll get over it." She hoped.

* * *

Oliver came in just as Felicity handed John a cup of coffee. "You never got me any coffee," he said mildly.

So he wasn't upset with her? "That's because you had your own secretary."

"Executive Assistant," he corrected.

She rolled her eyes, "That doesn't exist. You just told her that to make her feel better about the whole thing."

"A boss has to know their employees."

"Oh, is that the strategy you used when you thought putting me on the 25th floor was a good idea?" She handed him her cup of coffee as a peace offering.

"You're still here aren't you?" He said, gesturing to the space.

He had a point. She could have moved back to the third floor but she'd chosen to stay. He smiled and she could just see him tallying a point for himself on some imaginary score board. She rolled her eyes, but she wasn't upset. It was nice…seeing him like this. She tallied her own point for making him smile. That was good enough for her.

Oliver took a few sips and then handed her the cup, a soft expression on his face. She hesitated, confused, but took it anyway. John Diggle cleared his throat and she jumped, slightly. Luckily, Oliver had drained the cup enough so that the liquid didn't spill. She'd forgotten that John was there at all and she felt her cheeks turn red in embarrassment.

"You jumped out of a moving car!" She blurted in an attempt to hide her flaming cheeks.

"Yes." Oliver said smoothly, turning to John. "I know my mother means well Mr. Diggle, but I don't need a bodyguard."

"With all due respect, Mr. Queen. I will lay off my duties only when your mother tells me to. Until then, I am your bodyguard. So as your body guard, I'll take you home now. I believe you have a party to get ready for."

Felicity watched Oliver shake his head in disbelief, but he was smiling slightly, clearly amused by John's determination. He turned back towards her, holding his hand out for the cup. She gave it to him.

"Are you coming?" He asked.

"Um…" she'd forgotten all about it. And she hadn't really decided how much she should involve herself in Oliver's life. "I will. I'll just get a bit more work done and then I'll head over to the party," she lied. It was probably better that she didn't go anyway. She didn't want him to feel like he needed to be with her, or behave around her since they were still married. He would have more fun if she wasn't there.

He nodded. "Okay, see you there."

John Diggle stood up and thanked her for her help, smiling as if at some secret joke that she didn't get, but she smiled back and thanked him as well. She liked him. He seemed like a good guy. Maybe he and Oliver would get along better than expected.

Oliver gave her back an empty cup. "Sorry."

"It's fine."

And then he stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John turn and slowly walk towards the elevator. She gave Oliver a quick, awkward hug and then he turned and left as well.

Before the elevator was even on the ground floor Jane was in her office, blue eyes wide. "What are you going to do?" She asked the exact question that had been swimming through Felicity's mind incessantly the past few days.

"I just have to pick a moment to talk to him and then we'll sort this out, get a divorce and maybe be friends." It actually seemed like a viable plan.

Jane shook her head furiously, her red ponytail swaying violently from side to side. "Are you kidding?! That was actually kind of cute. I've never seen you two like that."

" _Cute_? What was cute?"

"You. Him. That," she pointed at the empty coffee mug that now sat on the edge of her desk.

Felicity waved it off. Maybe it was cute, but it just showed her that they could be friends… _maybe_. Everything was still new, still kind of up in the air, so it was far too early to make any assumptions. Maybe this new Oliver was like this _because_ it was new for him too—things could still change to the way they were. She hoped that they didn't, but it was a possibility. Friends is what she was going for, she definitely didn't want to be married to him. Even if he had changed, they just didn't work well as a married couple. "Friends are cute," was Felicity's only response before she got back to work.

* * *

Tommy called her at 9:45.

"Aren't you busy with a party?" She said.

"I'm busy noticing how _you're_ not here."

"I'm just heading out of work now—"

"Great. See you in a bit."

"—to go home."

"You're not coming? No. No way. You're coming. Do you want me to come get you?"

She could hear the pounding music in the background, and the sounds of people yelling just to talk to one another. It sounded like a _lot_ of people. And, knowing Tommy, she was sure that more than half of those people were strangers. Definitely not her scene. "No. I'm not coming. You guys will have more fun if I'm not around anyway."

"Says who?" He yelled, sounding almost offended.

"I don't mean it that way… I mean that it's awkward. Enjoy. Be free."

"Bee free? Felicity I'm coming over there."

"No. Seriously Tommy, have fun."

"I'll see you," he said, before hanging up.

By the time she cleaned up her desk and walked into QC's nearly deserted garage, Oliver's car was waiting for her, John Diggle was in the driver's seat. Felicity groaned.

"Mr. Merlyn asked me to do him a favor. He promised to keep an eye on Oliver."

"Fine. He's got me. I'll go, but I'll drive behind you because if I want to leave, I want to be able to do so. Oliver and Tommy will leave when the sun makes its appearance."

"Sorry Mrs. Queen, I've been instructed to drive you myself."

Why was this man so duty bound? Felicity sighed heavily, "Fine, but only if you stop calling me 'Mrs. Queen.'"

John nodded, "Deal."

The music and lights had given her a headache long before she was in the middle of the crowd of sweaty strangers in short dresses and expensive dress shirts. She knew it had been a bad idea to come. The flashing lights were blinding and there was barely any room to walk. The place was packed.

Felicity tried not to think about the fact that she and Oliver had loved to come to such parties in the early days of their marriage. They would show up together and then, promptly split up in different directions beyond the door to talk to, and drink with, people who they were _not_ married to. It had been a good way to sort of keep up appearances while also avoiding each other. She'd given it up after a while though, they couldn't both be rich and irresponsible family representatives. So she let Oliver be irresponsible, enjoying the way she could let her guard down when he was not around.

Shaking those thoughts away, Felicity pressed forward into the crowd, wondering how on earth she was going to find anyone she knew. As if by some instinct, she looked to the very back of the building just at the moment that Oliver appeared from the back door. Felicity couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw him wince as he moved into the crowd. His hand lingering near his shoulder. She continued to watch him, hoping that he would lead her to Tommy. She didn't want to get stuck talking to him alone first. Her head was still spinning furiously from all of the talking they'd done in the past three days.

When Oliver reached Tommy, just beside one of the small stages, occupied by half-naked dancers, Felicity moved forward to meet them. And then Detective Lance was there, his men breaking through the crowd of people like knives through butter. Felicity heard him say something about the party being over. The music stopped.

"Adam Hunt was just attacked by The Hood across the street—same guy that saved your lives. Know anything about that?" The detective asked.

Tommy scoffed and Oliver said something too softly for her to hear.

"We believe he's in this building now."

Tommy stepped forward. "Look, whoever this hood guy is, he's not here."

"You want to find him?" Oliver asked. Then he raised his right arm in the air. "Everybody, listen up! Two million dollars to anyone who finds a nut job in a hood!"

The crowd erupted in a deafening mock cheer. Felicity felt her heart drop just a fraction. He sounded so much like the old Oliver—nothing like the man she'd been talking to these past few days…For some reason, it hurt.

She was locked in place as Lance's men did a quick search while Oliver and Tommy continued to argue with him. She just watched. Even if she wanted to, she knew she couldn't move just then. Some illusion or other had been broken and she was watching the pieces fall to the ground. _Stop this! You're being stupid! Move._ She was being stupid. She had no right to expect anything from Oliver and it shouldn't have hurt—it shouldn't have hurt at all.

Lance gave up after some time, calling his men out in the deafening silence of an irritated crowd. Oliver wasted no time. He stepped up onto the small stage, "Why is it so quiet in here? This is a party!"

Felicity felt her limbs again and she took a second to shake her head, cursing herself for expecting anything. Blue eyes met her own and Oliver's playboy smile slid off of his face. This was the part where people who knew each other communicated without words, but she didn't know Oliver, so she didn't understand what he was trying to tell her. She didn't even know if she was trying to tell him something…And yet, he didn't look confused. He looked like he was understanding something she wasn't even saying. He closed his eyes for a split second. That was all she needed to turn and push her way through the crowd.

She wasn't angry. She was just tired.

Her escape was stopped by some guy holding a drink. He was swaying slightly as he offered it to her. Tall and lanky with hazel eyes and disheveled brown hair and a sharp jaw; he looked harmless. Even as the irritation flared up at being held back from leaving, she couldn't bring herself to be completely dismissive.

"No thank you. I was just leaving."

"Couldn't you stay just a while longer?"

She almost laughed. She wasn't interested, but his question was so innocent that it quelled her irritation.

"Sorry, no. I have to go."

"Well," he said, retracting the drink, "I won't stop you then, but it's selfish of you to take away the prettiest girl from the party."

Felicity had to try very hard not to roll her eyes. Still, she laughed.

"I was just coming to talk to you about that myself," Oliver said, placing a hand on her back.

The guy squinted at them for a second and then his eyes widened. "Mr. Queen, Mrs. Queen—I'm—I didn't recognize you. My apologies."

Oliver placed his charming playboy smile on his face. "No hard feelings," he said, patting the guy on the shoulder with a little too much force so that he winced, stumbling backwards half-a-step.

"If you'll excuse me," Felicity said, pushing past the crowd to the door.

Oliver let her open the door into the quiet hall, following close behind. "Feliicty." He gently took her elbow, spinning her around to face him.

"Go back and enjoy your party Oliver."

"Let's talk about this."

"Talk about what? Oliver, I get it, the 'I haven't changed at all act.' It's fine. Go. Enjoy it."

He closed his eyes, tilting his head down. "What if it's not an act?"

What was he trying to pull? Did he think she was just going to forget about the last three days—about what she'd seen in him and about what they'd said to each other? She placed a hand under his chin and tilted it up so that he looked at her. His eyes were full of shame and, for a second, she thought that he'd meant it. But then she remembered that he'd gotten good at hiding his emotions. Maybe he'd gotten good at faking them too.

"If you want to push me away Oliver, that's fine. Just tell me not to be around you or—whatever it is you want, but _this_ act…save it for them," she guested at the door. "We talked more in the last three days than we did the entire time we were ma—together. And now, you're running after me? Look at us Oliver… look where we are. You _always_ let me walk away before. Why not now? To tell me you haven't changed? I don't believe you. You've changed and it's okay—it's good."

"The talking—that's just me trying to figure things out Felicity. I'll be the same man you hated once I get used to things again."

Felicity didn't understand why he was doing this and she had to fight the urge to walk away from him. "No you won't. I don't believe that. You said you were done lying to me. You're lying to me now. But if you want me to stay away, say it. Because, you know what? I get it. You being back—it isn't going to work unless we get used to being around each other, but away from each other. Does that make sense?"

She shook her head, smiling slightly. She felt relieved, like she'd finally figured _something_ out. He was putting on an act. She didn't know why, or when he'd decided to push her away, but it didn't matter. She'd seen past the wall—just a little bit—and it was nice to know that she could. _Someone_ eventually could. "I'll keep my distance, Oliver. And, for the record, I never hated you. I'm glad you're back." She reached up to place a kiss just above the corner of his lips. She didn't know why. It just seemed like the right way to end this conversation. And then she turned and walked away. He let her. It didn't hurt anymore.

* * *

 **A/N: So I hope you guys liked it! Let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hi guys, so here is Chapter 3!**

 **This one is still Felicity's POV, but I think we'll get to Oliver in the next one.**

 **Thank you to those who have reviewed, I really appreciate it.**

 **I hope you like it!**

* * *

"You haven't been by the house in a few days…" Thea said quietly, almost to herself.

Felicity took a fry, evasively stuffing it into her mouth. She knew they'd get to this eventually. It was inevitable. Oliver this, and Oliver that. It's all they'd talked about. But Felicity couldn't be angry or fault the younger Queen. It was her brother and she just wanted to know if he was okay, if he was talking to someone—letting someone in. As far as she could tell, ever since their conversation at his party, he wasn't letting anyone in.

"No—I've been busy."

Thea scoffed. "Busy?"

Felicity could see Thea's frustration. She understood it. Of course she did; the brother comes back shuts everyone out, and now the sister-in-law who is always at the house stops coming by, shutting everyone out. Judging by the conversation she'd had with Oliver days ago, he wasn't going to give Thea any relief anytime soon, so perhaps some honesty on her part would do some of the trick.

"No. No, I haven't been busy—I mean I have. I work. But what I mean is that I've been avoiding the house. I've been avoiding Oliver, actually."

"Why? I thought you guys were getting along."

"We were—are, I hope—but it's also complicated. We were married. We still are. Getting used to each other isn't going to help anyone if we don't know where we stand. Once Oliver gives his proof-of-life statement in court tomorrow we can start working on a divorce and then, eventually, once we've got our individual lives back and we get used to each other again, we can be friends."

Thea gave her an exasperated look. "Sounds like unnecessary complications."

"Maybe…I don't know."

Thea went quiet then, looking down. Felicity watched as she picked up fries just to set them down again. She didn't even attempt to eat them. She felt sorry for Thea. Oliver's silence was nothing new for her and, to be honest, she needed it now, but Thea—Thea needed the opposite.

"We've talked about Oliver and me, but what about you? How are you doing?"

Thea shrugged. "I'm fine. Maybe…I don't know," she smiled, looking up at her.

They'd never been close, not really. But then Robert and Oliver disappeared and suddenly, they needed each other because Moira had gone silent and there was no one else. She'd gotten to really know Thea through tears and nights spent on the couch, watching pictures float by on the muted TV screen.

"He just feels so…distant. I feel like he's not even here sometimes, you know?"

Felicity nodded, "Maybe tell him that. He won't open up right away— _something_ happened to him during those five years—but he'll keep it in mind. Eventually, he'll open up. Tell him, so that he knows."

"Yeah, maybe you're right…"

Felicity saw the door open over Thea's shoulder and John Diggle walked in, jacket slung over his shoulder. He looked very tired as he quickly surveyed the booths. He spotted her and she waved. He smiled and walked over.

"Hello Felicity, Miss Queen."

Thea looked up and smiled, "Just Thea is fine. Hi Diggle."

"Hi John. How are you?"

John shrugged. "Exhausted."

"Oh yeah? My brother's keeping you busy then?" Thea scooted to the edge of the booth, patting the spot next to her.

John hesitated, "I don't want to interrupt. I just came to say hi."

"Sit down. Unless you're waiting for someone," Thea said.

"Carla actually. My sister-in-law." He pointed to the woman taking someone's order at another table. "She's still on her shift."

"Well, while you wait, sit down."

John looked at her for help, but Felicity just shrugged. He sat down.

"So, what's it like being Oliver's security detail," Thea asked.

From the look on John's face, Felicity could tell that he was just about ready to give up.

"It's…" He sighed. "It's exhausting. He's turned it into some disappearing act game. Apparently, jumping out of a moving car was only just the beginning. But I can handle it…"

"That does sound like Ollie…You _see_? Sometimes he's his same old self and sometimes he just—ughh" Thea threw her hands up in surrender.

"It'll take time," Felicity assured her.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

* * *

Felicity wiped her sweaty palms on her dress at the stop light. She didn't know why she was nervous. Oliver would be officially declared living today. It just made everything _real_. They'd been living in a sort of bubble for the past few days. But now that bubble was about to burst and they'd have to acknowledge—well, everyone else.

As if to prove her point, there was a massive crowd in front of the court house. Most of the crowd was composed of the media, but there were quite a few ordinary people present, just waiting to catch a glimpse of the lost prodigal son—and his wife, Felicity realized with some dismay.

She parked in front of the building, right behind the Queen family car, where a space had been cleared for her. The people were keeping a respectable distance from the vehicles and she wiped her sweaty palms on the skirt of her cream-colored body-con dress. Bright colors, she'd decided earlier that morning, were not appropriate for the day's occasion. Besides, she knew that Moira would be wearing muted colors as well. The _last_ thing she wanted was to stand out.

There was no movement in the Queen car, so she assumed that they had already gone in. Taking her mint green jacket from the backseat—there was no harm in _some_ color and it was a muted color—she took a breath. _Okay. Okay. You can do this_. She took another breath, grabbed her beige purse, switched off her car, and opened the door. The sound of the car door slamming shut behind her was like a gunshot for the group in front of her. They swarmed, descending on her almost furiously.

"Mrs. Queen, why didn't you arrive with the rest of the family?"

"Mrs. Queen is it true that you will be moving back into the mansion when this is all over?"

"Mrs. Queen, can you comment on what happened to your husband over the course of five years?"

"Mrs. Queen, some people are saying that a divorce is on the horizon."

"Mrs. Queen, how do you feel?"

"Mrs. Queen, can you comment on the rumors that your husband wasn't actually on the island for all five years?"

The questions blended together into one solid wall of voices. She'd known what this was like, and yet… Her heart was jumping into her throat, furiously pounding. Hands, mics, faces, and curious eyes were everywhere. She couldn't even see the steps to the courthouse; the wall of bodies blocked her view. Hands were grasping at her arms and she had to swallow the shivers that threatened to run down her spine. She didn't like being touched. But they didn't care.

"Mrs. Queen, can you respond to the allegations that you are actually _disappointed_ by Mr. Queen's return?"

"Mrs. Queen, what is the plan, moving forward?"

Felicity tried to push past them. But the cameras had started their assault. Large lenses were pushed up close to her from all directions and flashes clicked away in the morning light. _Who needs a flash in the daylight?_ She'd maybe moved an inch. Questions were still coming from all directions. She pushed forward again and was met by resistance. They didn't _want_ her to move forward.

"Mrs. Queen, have you spoken to your husband _at all_ since his return?"

"Mrs. Queen, some sources are saying that he doesn't want to speak to you, what is your response?"

Felicity tried to cover her face with her jacket, keeping her head down to push past the pumps, dress shoes, sneakers, ballet-flats, and sandals. In some small miracle, the sea of shoes began to part before her and she raised her head slightly, meaning to thank the crowd for finally letting her through. And that's when she saw why they were parting. Oliver headed towards her like a furious train. He looked— _angry_ wasn't the right word. He descended the steps quickly, rushing past the crowd in the space they'd created to avoid him. Felicity almost shrank back into the car herself.

"I would appreciate it if you let my wife through without further issue," was all Oliver said in a clipped tone.

The questions and the hands and the camera clicks all stopped. And it was deathly quiet as Oliver banded an arm around her waist and guided her inside at a brisk pace. John Diggle stood at the top of the stairs. He mumbled something to Oliver about how he should've let him get her instead of going into the crowd himself, but Oliver ignored the comment.

Once inside, he let her go, turning her to face him. He didn't say anything as he took her jacket from her and helped her put it on. And he was still silent as he smoothed out the jacket, turning the collar right. She watched the anger ebb away slowly once he was satisfied with her jacket.

"Are you all right?"

She'd heard him, but she couldn't answer right then. She was still trying to shake off the feeling of people grabbing at her and the multitude of voices swarming around in her head, asking their speculative questions. They hadn't gotten a quote out of her, but they would no doubt be reporting how she looked like a sacred squirrel or something. And what would they make of Oliver's expression and demeanor as he stormed towards her?

"Felicity, are you all right?"

Felicity shook her head, "Yeah, fine," and she winced at how unsteady her voice came out.

"John please get her some water."

John moved away, leaving them alone in the front all of the court house. Felicity nodded to herself, feeling stupid for not having been able to handle the media on her own. _You've done it before._

"You're all right," Oliver said, placing a hand under her chin to make her look up at him. "It's okay." She nodded, not trusting her voice. "I should've picked you up, or waited outside, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," she whispered, in case her voice cracked again. She reached out to smooth out his suit jacket, just to have something to do other than stand around awkwardly. He let her, despite the fact that they both knew his suit jacket was fine and didn't need to be smoothed out.

John came back with the water and she gulped it down, thanking him before turning down the hall to meet the rest of the family.

It was all very procedural. Oliver presented himself, made a statement and the judge listened. Felicity had hoped, as she assumed everyone else in the room had hoped, that some details would surface—that he'd let something slip, so that they could get even a glimpse of insight as to what really happened to him. But he'd practiced, Felicity could tell. It was all the information the court needed, without any of the details they wanted; there was a storm, the ship was hit, it went down, Oliver was the only survivor. Just over an hour after entering the court house, Oliver was declared legally alive again. And that was that.

Felicity celebrated along with the rest of the family, hugging everyone before heading out. But when she came to the entrance, she could see that the media was still there in swarms. She could hear Oliver somewhere in the hall behind her, filling Moira in on what had happened when she'd tried to come in earlier that morning.

"She needs a security detail," was Moira's immediate response.

Felicity spun around. "I do not. I'm fine. It's the excitement of the day's events that has the media in a frenzy. It'll die down." She was touched by Moira's and Oliver's concern, but today was not about her. It was about Oliver and she wanted it to stay that way. Oliver needed to see and feel how much his family loved him—maybe it would coax him to open up and let someone in.

"Think about it," Oliver said. "It may be a good idea. At least for a while." He looked over at John.

John smiled, "You're not getting rid of me that easily, but I could get someone to look after her. I'll get in touch with some people," he took out his phone immediately.

"I do not need a security detail." Felicity glanced outside at the awaiting crowd, "But if John would like to escort me to my car so that I can actually get to work, that would be much appreciated."

"I'll take you," Oliver said.

Felicity scoffed. "It worked on the way in, but I don't think you can recreate that terrifying look of rage again."

Oliver tilted his head slightly to the side in amusement, "Terrifying?"

"Oliver, _I_ was ready to jump back in my car and drive off."

He smiled as if at some secret joke. "Just let them try and touch you or harass you with questions. I assure you, the look can be recreated." He winked at her and turned to the rest of the group. "It may be a good idea to just follow us and get in the car."

And before she could protest, he wrapped an arm around her waist and took her down the steps into the crowd. No one touched her this time and they asked questions, but they were all for Mr. Queen, none for her. The family followed, taking advantage of Oliver's handiwork in parting the media crowd. Felicity waved at Moira and Walter as they got into the car.

Oliver guided her to her car, but promptly took her around the front of it and opened the passenger-side door. She turned in his grasp. "What are you—"

"I'm going with you. I haven't been to QC yet. Get in."

"You picked me up from QC the other day," she reminded him, trying not to focus on how they were still in full view of the media, who was no doubt, clicking away with their cameras. She tried not to think about how he was really close and about how he was still holding her to him, or about how hot her cheeks suddenly felt—not because she was attracted to him (although he did look good), but because they'd rarely been like this in public and she wasn't sure how to handle it.

He rolled his eyes, "I haven't been to QC _officially_ yet. Get in."

She left him to tour the company with Moira and Walter, heading to the third floor instead. There was still the matter of the weakened firewall to attend to.

* * *

 **Oliver: On my way to pick you up.**

Felicity stared at her phone. _Well, excuse you_ , she thought half-heartedly. She didn't remember asking Oliver to pick her up at any point. She placed the pen she'd been chewing on back in her mouth to free her hand. She needed to stop chewing on pens.

 **Felicity: You don't need to do that. I'm fine, Oliver.**

If staying at work past ten o'clock because she was still slightly shaken by her encounter with the media earlier that morning and Tommy had called a while ago to warn her that they were still in front of her apartment building, qualified as fine, then, yeah, she was fine.

 **Oliver: You're fine. I know. I'm still coming.**

There was no one on the top floor, so she allowed herself a smile. To be honest, she was grateful. She really didn't want to face the media for one, but there was also the matter of this hooded guy…First Adam Hunt and today, she'd heard about Marcus Redman. He'd saved Oliver and Tommy, but he still seemed to be going after the people with multi-million/billion-dollar companies and that wasn't very reassuring…

 **Felicity: All right, just this once.**

 _Just this once_. She had to tell herself too. They'd had their conversation at his party a couple of nights ago. And then they'd stayed away from each other for a few days. No phone calls, no texts. And it was good. It had allowed her to just live life and try to adjust to the fact that he was alive without being around him all of the time. One day wasn't going to ruin their streak, and besides, they'd have to learn to be friends after the divorce anyway.

 **Oliver: If you need it just once, then yeah, just once. If not, then it'll be more than once.**

She stared at her screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard without actually touching anything. What was she supposed to say?

 **Felicity: Are you texting and driving?!**

"No," Oliver said, walking in.

"Jesus, Oliver! How do you keep doing that?"

He shrugged, "You learn to be quiet in the wild. Ready?"

"I don't mean to demean your ordeal, but is there any way you could turn that off—the freaky quiet ninja thing?"

He pressed his lips together, staring at her for a moment, his face blank. She couldn't tell if he was thinking about what she'd just said or if he was thinking about something else entirely. "I'll work on it."

The car ride was mostly quiet. She stared out the window at the city lights in the night. They'd done this all of the time. It had been routine. They worked late and at some point, he always made his way to her office. Un-consciously they had developed a series of codes that let them know how their night would progress. Oliver always initiated them when he walked into her office after a long day.

If he said, "Time to unwind," it meant that they were going to a club, or a bar at some fancy restaurant, or maybe even spend the night in the back porch with a bottle of wine by the pool. They never talked in these situations: club meant drinking and dancing with other people, bar meant drinking and talking to other people, backyard meant drinking and silently looking up at the stars until they fell asleep in the chairs surrounding the pool.

If he came in and said, "It's movie night," it either meant that _he_ was going to take Thea out for a movie, or _they_ were going to take Thea out for a movie. He did this at least twice a month. Thea never cared what was showing, she just liked to watch new stories play out on the screen and she liked to spend time with her older brother.

If he said, "I'm meeting Tommy in a bit," it meant that he would drop her home or at Jane's or Sara's or Laurel's, or wherever she wanted really, while he went out and made a fool of himself with Tommy.

If he said, "I'm tired," then that's what he meant and they were going home to spend the night reading, or doing whatever before going to bed.

There was one more. It was rarer than the others, but it happened all the same. And she could often tell when he was going to say it because—well, she just _could_. If he was going to say it then he'd look at her more often throughout the day, find excuses to come to her office and ask questions he already knew the answers to, and find excuses to touch her on the shoulder, elbow, arm—things that were normal for normal married couples, but not for them. He'd just say, "It's late." And she would know that they'd ignored each other too long and they just needed a night off from disliking each other—they needed human contact. And they needed to be a normal married couple. Sometimes, it happened a few nights in a row, and sometimes it was just one. Somehow, they always seemed to understand when both their needs were fulfilled and they'd go back to their usual routines.

It occurred to Felicity now, that Oliver had used that phrase a couple of nights ago, when he'd first come to pick her up at QC, "It's late." She glanced at him. Had he forgotten what it meant? Had that phrase just been the first thing that had popped into his mind? But she couldn't read him anymore, so she just turned her attention back to the city, pushing all of the thoughts of her past with Oliver away.

* * *

When they got to her apartment building the crowd of photographers and people with mics were still huddled around the entrance. She sighed. Oliver parked his car in a space across the street and got out, coming over to open the door for her. The crowd remained on the other side of the street, but already cameras were clicking away with very bright flashes. Felicity was sure that they'd taken close to thirty pictures in the span of a few seconds.

Just like that morning, Oliver wrapped an arm around her waist, closing the car door and pressing the _lock_ button with his free hand. He moved them swiftly across the street and right towards the entrance. The flood of questions poured out as soon as their feet had touched the sidewalk.

"Mr. Queen, will you be moving in with Mrs. Queen now that you're back?"

"Mrs. Queen, how did you feel after hearing your husband's retelling of the events today in court?"

"Was today the first time that the two of you have spoken since the return?"

"Mr. Queen, will you resume your role in the company?"

"Have you reconciled your differences?"

"What can you say about the rumors that you've begun divorce negotiations?"

With every question, Felicity could feel his hold on her tighten just a fraction. They made it inside relatively quickly and she happily appreciated the silence in the lobby. Oliver released his hold, casting an exasperated look at the glass double doors where the cameras were still clicking.

"Thank you," she said quietly, not wanting to disturb the silence all too much.

His blue eyes scanned her and then he nodded. For the millionth time, she wanted to know what was going on inside his head, but his expression was as unreadable as ever.

"I should—" he began, pulling away.

Felicity took his hand in hers. "You're not going back out _there_. Come up. Wait them out."

He looked over at the crowd. "I can handle them."

"Okay."

"I'll have John or Tommy pick you up tomorrow morning."

She smiled in a silent form of 'thanks' and let go of his hand. "Good night Oliver."

"Good night Felicity."

She watched as he pushed past the crowd into the street and back to his car. He turned it on, but didn't drive away.

 **Oliver: Get inside your apartment.**

Felicity shook her head. Did he think they were going to ambush her inside the lobby as soon as he left? The building had security. But she did as she was told, making her way to the elevator and up to her apartment.

 **Felicity: I'm in. Good night.**

 **Oliver: Good night.**

* * *

The next time she heard from Oliver was a few days later. He'd sent John and Tommy to escort her virtually everywhere, but the crowds were thinning out—the story was still very much alive, but they realized that they weren't going to get any statements out of anyone involved. As a result, the articles, with various ridiculous speculative headlines, were filled with "a source close to the couple." Jane collected them all, occasionally placing the most outrageous ones on her desk, but Felicity ignored them.

"If one absolutely requires a response, then let me know. If not, I don't really care," she'd told her.

So Jane had stopped placing them on her desk, opting to collect them in a large pile in her own desk instead. Jane's desk drawer opened more times than Felicity would have liked as she dropped in another story—and another, and another…

Jane rushed in just before lunchtime, "Your _husband_ is here," she whispered rather loudly.

Oliver appeared in the doorway just as she had finished saying it. He wore a simple grey shirt and jeans, his brown jacket slung over one arm.

Jane whirled around, "Mr. Queen, lovely to see you. You came at the right time, Felicity is unoccupied at the moment."

Felicity glanced at the pile of papers in front of her and the excel sheet open on her computer screen. _Oh, yeah, totally unoccupied_. She took the red pen she'd been chewing on out of her mouth.

"Thank you, Jane. Hello Oliver."

"Felicity." He waited for Jane to exit the room and then walked over to the desk. "I'm having some trouble with my computer and you're the best so…"

"Sure. Let me see."

Oliver dropped his jacket on one of the chairs in front of her desk, revealing the laptop he'd been holding underneath. There were holes in it and it looked pretty beat up. "I spilled coffee on it," he explained, setting the laptop down.

Looking closer, she could see that the holes were bullet holes. "Oliver, these are bullet holes."

His expression didn't change. "My coffee shop is in a bad neighborhood."

She pinched the bridge of her nose and then ran a hand through her ponytail. She didn't even want to _think_ about where the laptop had come from. Finally, she took a breath and looked up at him again. "Oliver, I was— _am_ —married to you. You go to the Starbucks down the street."

He tilted his head, "I tried somewhere new."

She had to press her lips together really hard to keep from yelling at him for being anywhere near this bullet-ridden laptop. _After the island, and the scars, and the kidnapping, and the hooded guy, and the jumping out of moving vehicles, you really shouldn't be surprised._ "Mmmhmm."

"Anything you could salvage from it would be really helpful."

She didn't trust herself to say much, so she just matched the tilt of his head with her own tilt, hoping that he understood that she was well aware that his story was full of shit. "Mmmhmm."

He shot her a very subtle smile. "Thanks. You're the best."

"Mmmhmm."

* * *

"Felicity you, more than anyone, is still living in the past," Henry was telling her over the phone.

Felicity finished her Twizzler, chewing slowly as she changed the channel on her muted TV.

"I am not."

"When was the last time you went out on a date?"

She rolled her eyes. She knew he was going to bring that up. "People think I'm boring. I don't get asked out a lot," she said in her defense. See? It wasn't her fault.

"You know why people don't ask you out? You're still _married_. That kind of makes people hesitate—especially now that your husband is back."

"Can everyone stop calling him that? Just call him Oliver. That's his name."

Henry sighed on the other end of the line. " _Planet of The Apes_ is playing on channel 341." She switched it to channel 341. "As I was saying, Oliver may be his name, but he is _also_ your husband."

Felicity switched the channel to 342. "Ohh! _Night Train to Lisbon_ , channel 342. It just started."

She heard the click of Henry's remote. "Look, I'm not saying you need to start going out on dates or hanging out in clubs all of a sudden. Just—start living for _you_. He was gone and you couldn't do that. In five years, you couldn't let go of it and it's really odd because, as far as I know, you weren't in love with him."

"I'm wasn't. I'm not. I just felt guilty…because of how we'd gone about the whole marriage business. I thought I'd taken away the little life he'd had and just made him miserable."

Henry was quiet. She heard him get up and then she heard the sound of the kettle and water pouring into something. _Good idea._ She got up too, heading for her kitchen to fill the kettle with some hot water before rummaging through her drawer of tea in search of a packet of hot chocolate.

"You guys made a mess of things," Henry said finally, "but you _both_ made a mess of things. I'm sure Oliver wouldn't want you to feel all the guilt. I told you that even when he was gone."

"I don't feel guilty anymore."

"Oh, is that why you still have some of his clothes in your closet? Is that why you still have your wedding ring tucked away?" His tone wasn't one of accusation. It was gentle, but he _was_ making a point.

Felicity poured the hot water over the coco powder in her cup and stirred. She'd taken some of his clothing when she'd left—just to remind herself that she'd been married and that it had been a mess and that the mess had been her fault, in part. It was a reminder to do better. To stay at QC and around Thea and Moira—to do what Oliver could not.

"It doesn't just _go away_ ," she said. "Even now that he's back, God knows what he's been through while I was here…"

"Yes, but that is not your fault. The things you guys did, or didn't do, while you were married, that you can take credit or blame for. But the island…that's not your fault."

"I know."

She sat back down, watching as Jeremy Irons' character impulsively got on a train to Lisbon, with no lead except for a book he'd found in a girl's jacket. She'd seen the movie many times and she loved how one impulsive decision completely changed the character's life.

"Do you want a divorce?" Henry asked after a long time.

"Yes. I haven't talked to him yet, but yes…I would like him in my life though. He's different now. I'd like it if we could be friends."

"Well, there you have it," Henry said, sounding proud, "at least you know what you want."

She laughed, "You sound as if I never make decisions."

"You make decisions. It just takes really long because you're indecisive."

"Yeah, well, not about this."

There was a knock on the door and Felicity took a hurried sip of her hot chocolate before rushing to open it. Oliver was standing there in a white polo and dark jeans. He looked like he'd just sprung out of a magazine ad and Felicity suddenly felt really self-conscious about her oversized _Assassins Creed_ shirt and her stripped pajama shorts that were so short they barely showed under the shirt. It wasn't just that he looked put together and, she had to admit, hot, and she did not. It was also that he'd never seen her like this. Yeah, they'd been married, but at the Queen mansion, Felicity always felt that she had to be put together—even in her sleep. So her pajamas had consisted of matching silk sets or short silk dresses. This was a shirt that didn't fit properly and a pajama short that was missing its top. And to top it off, her hair was in a half-bun, falling out around her messily in disheveled curls.

"Hi."

"Hi," he said back.

She stared at him awkwardly for a minute. "Um…come in."

Oliver walked in, stopping to take in the massive windows that made up the opposite wall, looking out over the city.

"Henry," Oliver turned swiftly at that and she thought she saw him glance at his watch. "I have to go."

"Yep. I heard. Have fun with your new… _friend_." He let out a fake cough to cover up the word. "Husband." Before she could say anything, the line went dead.

"This is nice—your apartment," he said, spinning around to take the whole place in.

"Thanks."

Felicity cursed herself for not really having anything to say. Lately, it was as if she couldn't formulate sentences around Oliver. She was sure that it had to do with the fact that they'd spoken very little during their time together, so this was as new as anything else.

"Sorry to just intrude on you like this."

"No. No, it's fine. Do you want something to drink?"

"Whatever you're having."

"Hot chocolate?" She asked because she knew he wasn't very big on sweets.

"Sounds nice." And she would have gone to the kitchen right away, except that he looked kind of sad. Not the crying kind, but the kind that was perhaps even more heartbreaking, full of nostalgia.

She knew better than to ask what he was thinking, but the rare glimpse into his emotions captivated her, rooting her in place. A nostalgia of her own crept up—a longing for the days where she'd been able to read him like an open book. Sometimes, when he'd said perfectly normal things, she'd resorted to giving him perfectly outrageous answers just to see how his expressions changed.

Felicity stared, well aware that she was doing so, until the emotion ebbed away, replaced by some mix of curiosity and confusion instead. Then she moved to the kitchen as if they hadn't just been staring at one another for almost two minutes. She heated the water and found another packet of coco powder all without looking at him. His eyes bored holes through her. She could _feel_ it.

"Don't—don't get me wrong Oliver. I don't mind that you're here—not at all. It's just that we talked that night at your party and I thought the point was to stay away from each other…" Her back was still to him. She waited for the kettle to boil over: literally and figuratively.

"I actually came by to see if you'd had any luck with the laptop."

"Oh. I have yes," she said turning to face him, "but I left it at work. I thought you'd come by there…" That was only half of the truth. She also hadn't felt comfortable taking a bullet-ridden laptop that was _obviously_ not Oliver's home. Safer to leave it at the office.

"Right. I'll come by tomorrow. Were you able to get anything out of it?"

"Yeah…some blueprints of the Exchange building." Oliver gave her a blank look. "Where the Unidac Industries auction is supposed to take place…"

Oliver still looked blank, clearly not understanding.

"Look…I don't want to get in the middle of some family drama or anything—"

"What?" Oliver shook his head, "First off, you are family, second, what?"

The stupid laptop and stupid blueprints were instantly forgotten. He'd never said that. He'd acknowledged her as part of the family while they were together, but she'd still felt like he didn't want her there. And, well, he didn't. Hearing him say it was so incredibly nice. It made her feel all warm and gooey inside like a kid on Christmas. _You're being stupid_ , some sarcastic part of her mind told her. But she wasn't. He'd said it offhandedly—an afterthought that was meant to remind her. And he _meant_ it.

She turned quickly to hide the smile on her face. "Erm…Walter is trying to buy Unidac industries," she continued.

"Yeah…?"

"And you've got a company laptop belonging to one of his competitors…." She poured the hot water over the coco powder.

"Floyd Lawton."

"No. Warren Patel," she corrected, handing him the mug.

"Whose Floyd Lawton?"

Oliver took a long sip of his hot chocolate. "I like your pajamas," he said suddenly.

As much as she knew that Oliver was trying to change the topic, she couldn't stop her cheeks from growing warm in embarrassment. "Thanks, the original top got misplaced," she mumbled lamely.

"It's a good replacement."

Felicity ducked her head to avoid his eyes. She walked around the kitchen counter to the living room couch. Oliver followed her and sat down, leaving some space between them. For a while, they just watched the screen, but Felicity couldn't relax. She sat rigidly, aware that Oliver looked over at her every few minutes. A hand came to rest on her shoulder a while later and she flinched unintentionally. "Sorry," they both said simultaneously.

"Relax," he said then, his hand still on her shoulder.

She let him push her back into the couch gently and when he removed his hand, she did relax, focusing on the movie. They watched the whole thing in silence and when it was over, Oliver turned to face her.

"I also came to talk to you."

"Oh…"

He was quiet, his blue eyes searching hers for some hint of emotion. She wondered if that's what she looked like when she looked at him. "I just—I'm going to be a little different for a while, but I don't want you to think that it changes anything that we've talked about or gone through. I said I wouldn't lie to you, so I'm telling you now. I'll be different, but you'll have to trust me," he looked away, chuckling to himself. "I know, I'm asking you to trust me when we haven't even built that up, but please do…"

A surge of triumphant joy passed through her, because he'd just cracked the wall a little more. It wasn't nearly enough—there was still so much that she didn't know—but just like that night at his party, it was something. And yet, it didn't make sense…why was he telling _her_ of all people—the wife he hadn't wanted, the girl he never spoke to. She didn't want to spoil it, but the question was already restlessly swimming around in her mind. If she didn't ask, she wouldn't sleep.

She watched her hand as it reached out to him, with a mind of its own. It landed on his bicep and traveled upwards, stopping at his shoulder. "Oliver," her mind was screaming at her: _Why do you sound so out of breath? Why are you whispering? What the hell is wrong with you?_ But she couldn't stop it. Her mouth had a mind of its own too, "why are you telling _me_? What does it matter what I think?"

Oliver's eyes had gone wide from the moment she'd started the sentence and she wanted to tell him that it wasn't her fault. Whatever was happening now—it wasn't her fault. His lips parted to say something and closed again. He looked away, clearing his throat. The sound broke whatever trance she was under and she snatched her hand away like she'd been burned. _What the hell was that_? He still hadn't said anything.

"I'm sorry—I don't know what—I appreciate you telling me. It's just that—I'm not sure why you are pushing me away one minute and then telling me to trust you the next when we never—you don't owe me explanations. Not that I don't want your explanations. _Please_ , explain away because I am—I'm just _really_ lost here. Not that you have to. But if you want to I mean...uggh!"

She buried her head in her hands. If the couch had swallowed her up then, she wouldn't have minded at all. But apparently, the couch wasn't hungry and so she stayed where she was. Oliver didn't say anything, and with each passing second, she was becoming more mortified. She didn't dare look up at him. Eventually, too much time had passed and she _had_ to look up. When she did, he was staring at her as if nothing had happened, a small smile on his face.

He shrugged, "I just wanted to tell you. I don't know why."

"Okay…" She didn't dare to say anything else.

"I like it when you do that."

"When I do what?"

"Get lost in your words and go off on a long rant. It's—natural. It's not like when you were at home. Every word was so…rehearsed. Mine were too, I'm not blaming you."

He wasn't wrong. Everything she'd ever said to him throughout their marriage was rehearsed. Her babbling outbursts were rare, because she thought every conversation through, down to the last detail and, if that didn't work, one of them always walked away anyway.

She laughed, feeling relieved that whatever had just happened, he was letting it go. "Trust me, it'll get old soon. Then you won't like it that much anymore."

He chuckled. "I should go."

"Yeah."

She'd asked her question, but she still didn't sleep that night.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you liked it!**

 **I've been posting about every other week or so, so far and I'm** **going to try to keep that schedule going.**

 **Let me know what you think about this chapter and/or the direction the story is taking. I love reading your comments.**

 **Until next time!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: It's been a long time once again, but I haven't abandoned this story, I promise!**

 **I tried to make this chapter a little longer than usual to make up for the long wait.**

 **There's a lot of push and pull between Oliver and Felicity in this chapter, but they're trying to get somewhere and they are...slowly.**

 **Still Felicity's POV. I promise, promise, we'll get Oliver's soon.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

No. I don't want this—just let it be. Make your building dedication, but leave me out of it."

"Oliver, you said you wanted to be a different person. Now, you can be."

"Walter is doing a good job. Let it be."

"This is your company. You are going to have to take it over eventually. Felicity is already doing her part and she's just married into this family. You are blood. You will be at the dedication and we _will_ make the announcement."

Felicity sighed. She agreed with Moira, of course, but she resented being brought into the conversation, and she did think it was perhaps a little too soon to dump a company on Oliver. There really was no good time to enter the office, and it was a small miracle that they hadn't already spotted her on the other side of the glass door, folders in hand. Oliver's blue eyes caught hers just as she reached for the knob: he'd seen her from the moment she'd come out of the elevator, she realized. It made her uneasy—like she couldn't do anything without him knowing anymore.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said, holding out the folders to Moira. "You just have to sign these whenever."

Moira took them, "No. Interrupt all you want. Maybe talk some sense into my son." Without another word, she walked around Oliver and dropped the folders on her desk. "I have a business lunch appointment. You will be at the dedication Oliver," taking her bag, she walked past them both, squeezing Felicity's shoulder on her way out.

"Mom."

Moira turned, "Yes?"

"Felicity doesn't have to do any of that—you're still acting like we're married…"

Moira's eyes shut and she sighed. Felicity could almost hear the pieces of her broken heart rattling in her throat with that sigh. "Right. I forget. You are though—for the record." She attempted a smile. "Perhaps she'll talk to you as a friend. You won't listen to me, after all…" And then she was gone.

"I think you just broke her."

"We would've had to remind her eventually."

"Hmmm…"

"Felicity I—"

"Let them make the announcement. It's just for show: you're back and carrying on the legacy and all that. I'll make sure that you don't actually get any work for a while."

He turned away from her, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. She could see that faraway look in his eyes again, staring out over the city as if the whole of Starling's weight sat on his shoulders. "I don't think I should do that."

"She's—we're all trying to figure it out Oliver. None of us actually know who came back from that island—not Moira, not Thea, not me. We don't know. And that's fine by me, but your _family_ needs some version of you. So show up."

"I told you, you are family."

The statement didn't evoke the same warm feelings it had days ago. Now, she just felt annoyed. "You just reminded your mother that we're not married. If we're not married then I'm no longer family."

"Isn't that what you want—a divorce?" His voice was flat, tone indiscernible.

She almost wanted him to yell at her. He was feeling it too—the pent up irritation of not really being sure about anything anymore—and she just wanted him to let it out. It would give her an excuse to do the same.

"Yes. Don't you? Because, if you don't, let me remind you that these past few days have been exceptions—they're not what we're really like. We don't work."

She clearly saw him clench his jaw. "I know that. You should go. I have…things to do."

Her nails dug into the skin of her palms, tearing at the delicate flesh until she was sure they would leave their little half-moon marks for some time. "You can _dismiss_ me, Mr. Queen, once you've taken your place in the company _officially_. You want that privilege? Show up, make a speech, and sit at your desk for a couple of hours."

It was wrong, but she almost liked it. They were back to their old arguments—even just for a moment. It wasn't pleasant. It wasn't even something to get really angry about. But it was something familiar. She knew the way his back straightened at the ice at her voice. She knew the way he clenched and un-clenched his jaw to keep from saying something he would later regret. She knew the steel in his eyes when he set them on her again. She knew _this_. For the first time since he'd been back she could read him and predict every move.

He opened his mouth and she waited for that strained voice she knew he used whenever he spoke to her in this state. But he closed it again, denying her that satisfaction, and it made her angrier. She remembered that he'd figured out it annoyed her even more when he said nothing and so, whenever he could contain himself, he'd resorted to staying quiet. She thought he was doing it now. Instead, she watched in despair as the steel slid away from his gaze and his ridged muscles relaxed. All the familiarity that had quickly come in rage, now left. She was again standing before a man she didn't know.

The blue in his eyes seemed to dull and he turned almost sad. "Is that what you wanted?" It wasn't a question.

The anger she'd been desperately clinging to fell away with an ice-cold flood that wracked her body. He knew even that—her motivations. She was an open book even _she_ couldn't close. And he just saw everything with those stupid eyes. And she—she saw nothing through that fortress. Perhaps this is what Thea was feeling, or Moira. Perhaps she was seeing even less than they were.

"I'm not going to fight with you and yell at you. I'm not going to slam doors, or snap pencils in half. It's not even because I think we're better than that—we are, by the way. It's just that I don't hate you. I don't even dislike you. So I can't put on the show," he said.

Tears of frustration and anger pricked at her eyes. Not only did he seem to have access to all of her thoughts, but now he couldn't even 'put on the show' as he put it. So what was left? Would she just have to live with it—being around him and being read by him all day? "Stop it. Just stop it, Oliver."

He tilted his head like a little kid who simply didn't get it. But his eyes were too sure. He was looking through her again. Even when _she_ didn't know what she meant by 'stop it,' he did. "Stop what?"

"You know what," she hissed.

"Hmm…Do you?"

"Ahh, Oliver, Felicity. Just the two people I was looking for," Walter said, entering the office as if they'd just been having a nice little chat about the weather. "They need you down in IT. Something about a firewall."

Felicity nodded, turning on her heel. Walter placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Stop by my office when you have time. I need some advice on some...technological advancements we're going to be investing in."

If she wasn't so annoyed with Oliver, she would have told Walter that his description was awfully vague. She nodded again, walking past him into the hall.

* * *

She only managed to slip away from the IT department towards the end of the day. Again, no luck. It was definitely more than something remotely attacking the system—they needed to physically check every server and, preferably, every computer in the building. But that was a hell of a lot of work and no one had time for it. Still, it had to be done, but they were all tired so that game plan would have to be laid out tomorrow.

Felicity was half way to her office when her phone rang. "Walter. I'm so sorry I got caught up."

"No problem. If you're still in the office, I would appreciate it if you came by. It won't take long. I just need to run something by you."

"I'll be right there."

Walter's entire floor was dimly lit as people turned off lights and packed up their things. It was getting darker much earlier these days and Felicity couldn't help but think that she needed to start going home earlier—that hooded guy really seemed to have a thing for coming after company owners at night.

"You know, if I was just a regular employee, this would be pretty intimidating," she laughed awkwardly at her own joke, trying to push away the unease she suddenly felt at the thought of the hooded guy. "I would probably think you were going to fire me or something." She laughed again.

Walter just raised his eyebrows. The amusement in his eyes was so terribly slight that she would have missed it if she hadn't gotten to know him over the years. "Well, seeing as that would be absolutely detrimental to the company, rest assured that I will not be firing you. Besides, you practically run this company just as much as I do, and Moira does."

"Right." She let herself fall onto the comfortable couch in the corner, resisting the very real urge to close her eyes and fall asleep right there. She definitely needed a cup of coffee before driving back home.

"I asked you here because I need to ask something of you. Frankly, you're the only one with the skill level to accomplish the task, but, more importantly, I trust you."

"Well, I would hope so. We did live in the same house, for about a year and a half," she joked.

Walter sighed.

"Sorry. Sorry. It's been a long day. What do you need?"

"It has to be done _very_ discretely. No one—not even Moira—should know about this."

 _That_ got Felicity's attention. Walter was not one to keep things from Moira—at least, as far as she knew anyway. For a moment, there was an odd mixture of a feeling; somewhere between dread and anticipation. Part of her _wanted_ to know, but after Oliver's strange inquiry request, she didn't exactly feel like taking on another 'covert' operation. One minute, her life was all corporate meetings and regular computer codes and the next, she was suddenly being handed secretive assignments with questionable answers.

Walter pulled out a file and came to sit on the couch beside her. "There's an odd variance of 2.5 million dollars on some failed investment from a couple of years ago, authorized by Moira. There's a gap and I need you to find out the details."

"Moira doesn't remember it? I mean, that's a _lot_ of money not to remember. Or maybe someone in accounting could—"

"I didn't ask Moira and, like I said, she can't know you're looking into it."

Felicity suppressed a sigh. It seemed very simple to her: just ask Moira where the money went. What was the worst she could say? It was a failed investment—those happen… She couldn't really tell sometimes with Walter, but this time she was sure that he thought it was something else. So she kept quiet.

"I'll look into it. I'm sure it's nothing though, but I'll look."

"Thank you, Felicity. Go home, rest."

* * *

"He'll be here," she said, unsure of the statement herself. The dedication of the new building to her late father in-law was going well. But it was the first substantial story the media had gotten about the Queens in weeks and they were out in swarms again. Felicity had a distinct feeling that they would be around for a while. Additionally, Oliver had yet to show up, and they were getting awfully close to the part where they announced his new position in the company.

The cameras clicked away and Felicity tried not to flinch at the memory of their hands on her, asking waves of questions, back at the court house. She didn't know what it was. She'd dealt with them before. They'd been just as aggressive before. And she'd never been this way—shrinking from them as if in fear.

Walter was half way through his speech when Oliver staggered through the site. By the time Felicity caught sight of him, downing a glass of champagne and then another, it was too late. "What about me?" Oliver interrupted loudly, setting the glass down on the waitress' tray with more force than she expected. The whole tray toppled over, sending glasses full and empty, to their untimely ends on the floor.

"Shit," she heard Tommy mutter under his breath from where he was talking to Thea.

"I mean, I'm a legacy. Am I right?" Oliver got up on stage, staggering slightly to the side as he took the symbolic shovel from Walter's hands. He laughed off his stumble and stood before the mic. Felicity noticed he was wearing a suit with a light checkered pattern—he hated those; avoided them at all costs. The only reason he owned one was because Moira had taken Thea to pick out a gift for him one year and it had amused her to pick out that particular suit. He'd kept it only because his little sister had been the one to give it to him.

"Some of you may not know," Oliver continued, "but I'm Oliver Queen." He laughed at his own joke, swaying as he did so. "Television, newspaper? I'm kind of all over them right now." He chuckled. "You can ask my wife," he pointed at her, "they've been—been very mean to her. Hey, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not everywhere she is all the time, so leave her alone yeah?"

Just like the night he'd come over and asked her to trust him, she wanted something to swallow her, only now, it wasn't because she'd said something embarrassing. Now, it was because she was about to cry in front of all these nicely dressed people that she knew and worked with. What was he doing? And how could he call her out like that? The cameras, like a child's brain, had done exactly the opposite of what he'd just asked—their big, ugly lenses were all turned right at her face.

Tommy reached for her arm, turning her slowly away from the stage. Henry was behind her, discretely pretending to talk to someone else. "Okay... Say nothing. Do nothing. Just follow Tommy," he was saying.

"Robert Queen though, that's who we're talking about today right—" Oliver turned towards the big picture of the new building. "That's who this new sciency building is going to be built for, right? I'm his son. But—see, Walter, who's my new dad, huh?" He laughed. "Sorry. As Walter was saying…this building is going to be for Robert Queen. He deserves it."

As much as Tommy tried to guide her away from the mess that was Oliver on stage, with a stoic Walter hiding his features as best he could beside him, Felicity wanted to see it—sort of like a train wreck. It was horrible, and ugly, but she just couldn't look away. If there had ever been a case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, this was it. In the club she'd been sure it was an act—and he proved that when he followed her out to talk to her. If _this_ was an act, it was damned good.

"I'm not my father. I will not be taking my rightful place in the company. That's what I came here to say. So stop asking me to be him—or be like him." With that, Oliver let the shovel clatter down on the stage and stepped off, stumbling as he went.

Only a day ago, he'd been the calm, collected one in Moira's office. She'd picked a fight and he'd seen right through her. He'd put a stop to it without so much as an angry glare and now he was the drunken fool? All she felt was bewilderment—until she looked at Moira, and Thea, and Walter. They looked so broken…like all the hope they'd been holding onto was just knocked out of them in seconds. The heat boiled in her blood again. Ignoring Tommy and Henry as they quietly demanded she stay put, so that the cameras wouldn't catch on to what she was about to do, she strode through the crowd that hastily melted before her—letting her through without argument.

Oliver had just slipped into the car when she turned the corner. John Diggle caught sight of her as he closed the door and she hoped that her expression told him to stay the hell put. He did. Ripping the door open, she all but jumped in. "What the _hell_ was that?" She didn't miss the way he hesitated before resuming the un-focused, drunken look he'd upheld on stage. So it _was_ an act. She let out a breath, forgetting for a moment that she was angry with him.

"I told you to trust me," he smiled, patting her hand awkwardly.

"That wasn't funny Oliver. You—you should see what they all look like out there…Moira, Thea, Walter, Tommy…You just broke them. And I'm not joking this time. I mean you _really_ broke them. You almost broke me."

"Trust me. It's better if they think I haven't changed. Leave the company in Walter's hands for now—and yours."

"No. That isn't an excuse. Maybe you're not ready for the company. That's fine, but you are hurting them. You are hurting the company image."

"It's better this way, trust me."

That request was getting really old, really fast. Even if it was all an act, for whatever reason, she could see that he _believed_ it was better this way. His stubbornness was still there. "Better for you. I don't see it benefitting anyone else, but you won't listen to me. You've made up your mind, I see…You're actions still have consequences Oliver."

She opened the door. He stopped her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Whatever he was about to say, she didn't want to hear it. "I have to go. Someone's got to do damage control."

"You're walking away," he said so quietly she almost missed it.

She scoffed, "And you're breaking things without telling me why." And then she closed the door and walked away, not even glancing at John as she did so.

At the party, when he'd tried to put space between them—that was fine. Now, she was on the inside—sort of—knowing that it was all an act and it wasn't fine at all because it wasn't just limited to her anymore. So many people were being affected. But then again, that had already been the case back then. Maybe she was just angry because she wasn't understanding it anymore…

* * *

The more she looked into Walter's question, the more she didn't like what she was finding—and that was odd, especially since she hadn't actually _found_ anything yet. All she had so far was the name of the other company: Tempest. That, and a weird circle cut up with various thick lines running through it so that it wasn't really a circle anymore. It wasn't much. In fact, it wasn't anything at all since the circle made no coherent sense, but it made her uneasy for some reason; gave her that feeling that one gets when they're being watched.

She noticed her phone screen light up with a picture of a very un-amused looking Henry. He hated taking pictures of only himself—even if it was for somebody's contact list. It never failed to make her smile though. He just looked so done. Closing all of the windows open on her computer, she picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey. I'm outside. Are you ready?"

Ready? For wha— She spun her chair around so fast she almost fell off. The sky outside had turned a nice deep purple since some time in the afternoon when she had actually sat down at the computer. Shit.

"Ummm…almost. Come up and wait while I change clothes real fast."

"You completely forgot until this very moment, didn't you?"

"What? Noooooo. Of course not." She scoffed, "I was just thinking about the firewall problem and the servers we need to check, you know. I got lost in thought."

"Oh yeah, definitely something to day dream about; a night crawling around a 27-floor building, painstakingly going through every computer—and that includes the elevators and the cameras, and…. Sounds like so much fun."

"That is why we didn't have to go to work during the day. It'll just be for a few days, until we find whatever it is that is breaching the firewall. It _has_ to be hardware. If we find it tonight, then we're in the clear and we can return to our normal routines."

There was a knock on her door and she opened it to find Henry in jeans and a black polo shirt, looking just as done as he looked on that photo in her phone contacts.

"Do you know how many computers there are in QC?" He asked by way of greeting, ending the call.

"Many. I'm trying to be positive here! Look at it this way, we get to sneak around the office at night _and_ we don't have to go to work during the day. It won't just be us anyway; Grant and Mark will be there. That's four people looking for one thing. We're bound to find it fast."

"I still think we should've taken up Mark's wife's offer to help. I think Grant's fiancé said she was willing to help too. The more, the better."

"Wrong. They don't know what's supposed to be sticking out of the serves and computers and what's not. If they pull out the wrong USB stick or wire, we're far more screwed then we are now, though I will call them tomorrow and thank them for their offers of help and for lending me their husbands/fiancées."

"Fine. Go change your clothes and let's get this operation started. Hopefully this geek squad of ours can _finally_ figure this out."

"Ye have little faith."

Henry didn't dignify that with an answer.

It was only when Henry had been gone for about half-an-hour that Felicity remembered that she was almost alone in the QC building. Night two, because night one had brought no luck and the guys had called it a night—morning. It was 2:30 a.m. Mark was still somewhere on the third floor and there was a security guard on the first floor, but that would do her no good on the twentieth floor. Goosebumps sprang up on her skin for no reason. It wasn't as if she'd heard a sound or anything, but she'd been looking into Walter's inquiry earlier in the day and had found that someone else had tracked the transaction—the circle symbol she'd found was the only trace they'd left. It just felt like she was getting into something much darker than she wanted to handle. She'd considered telling Walter what she had so far and then telling him that she couldn't find anything else, but if she wouldn't do it, then who would? And now that she was in it, she wanted to know; what had Moira been doing with this investment? There was nothing on the alleged company. Something was definitely off.

Sighing, she turned off the desk light of some guy named Benjamin. He was new and she couldn't put a face to the name, but his computer was clean. Again, there was nothing to find. This was getting ridiculous. But if they hadn't found it yet, maybe it was something someone had managed to slip into Walter's computer, or Moira's—or maybe even hers. She made up her mind to check those three computers and then call it a morning, but before she could make it to the elevator in the pitch black, her body was spun sideways and her back it the wall— _hard_.

For some reason, she didn't scream. Her senses were heightened though—she felt every muscle in her body tense up as her right hand was pinned against the wall right beside her. She lunged her left hand forward before it could be pinned down as well. Her hand landed on her attacker's hip, grasping at the black cotton shirt he was wearing. He changed his tactic then, pinning her more securely by using his whole body to trap her. It happened so quickly that she hadn't even finished her first sentence by the time he'd stopped moving.

"Don't put an arrow through me!"

There was a momentary pause. "Felicity, what are you doing here?"

"Oliver?" It was still pitch black but the voice was unmistakable. "Are you insane? I just saw my life flash before my eyes! I thought I was going to become a bullseye!"

"Shhh…" His voice was so low and soothing that her eyes closed of her own accord and she became very grateful for the fact that neither of them could see very much. "I don't think you need to worry about the hooded guy putting an arrow through you. He only goes after assholes."

She opened her eyes. "He _goes_ after people with multimillion dollar companies—at night."

"Still, I don't think you need to worry." His lips brushed the top of her forehead. He still had her pinned against the wall.

"Sure, _now_ I don't need to worry. You're all athletic and muscly and you could probably take him, but _I've_ got noodle arms and I've been here practically alone all night." What did she just say? Did she say that out loud?

"You think I could take him?"

Yep. She'd said that out loud.

"I mean—I _think_ you could…"

"Wait. Practically alone? Who else is in the building?"

On cue, the elevator bell dinged. It was loud and clear. They weren't that far from it. That meant that she should have heard it when Oliver had come up. How hadn't she heard it?

"Felicity?" Mark's voice rang out.

"Don't," Oliver warned, his lips now right by her ear.

Why not? Even if Oliver didn't know Mark he was just some guy from the IT department. And Oliver was a Queen. His name was literally on the building. He owned the company. No one was going to ask him what he was doing in his own building—except her; she would ask once he backed up a few feet so that she wasn't between him and a wall.

"Felicity?" Mark tried again.

This was ridiculous. She'd made up her mind about answering him, but again, Oliver read her mind. Again, he was two steps ahead of her.

"I _will_ kiss you to shut you up," he threatened. His voice wasn't particularly low, or angry, or anything really. It was so matter-of-fact that it was almost funny—at least it would have been if she wasn't still pinned against a wall in the darkness with her sort-of husband. She stayed silent.

The elevator bell rang out again and she heard the doors slide to close. Neither of them said anything for a while, just to make sure that he was actually gone. Her phone vibrated in her back pocket and, without a word, Oliver let go of her right wrist, using his arm to distance her from the wall enough so that she could grab the phone. She expected him to let her go. Mark was not on the floor anymore…they'd heard the elevator. He didn't.

"Hello?"

"Felicity, where are you? I checked the servers again, there's definitely nothing in there that shouldn't be."

"I'm on the 20th floor—I mean, I just got to the 20th floor."

Mark chuckled. "I was just there. I'll come back up and—"

"No! I mean—no it's fine. You go home. That's enough for one night. I'll just check Moira's and Walter's computers before I call it a night and head home. You never know, maybe someone put it exactly where we wouldn't think to look."

"Do you want me to wait with you? It's pretty late—early."

"Nah, it's fine. Just remind the security gaurd that I'm still up here on your way out."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Go home. Sleep. Thanks for your help."

"Okay then. Good night—morning—you know what I mean."

She said her goodbyes and then hung up.

"You can let me go now," she said, wriggling in his grasp. Honestly, it was kind of nice. He was warm and she felt safe—sure that some hooded arrow-wielding maniac wouldn't come for her. But his odd behavior was also getting a bit tiresome and she _really_ needed space in order to clear her head. At this rate, she would forget to ask him for a divorce.

"Would it be so bad if I didn't?" It was a joke, she could hear it in his voice.

"Very funny."

He let her go, backing away so that they each regained their personal space. "What are you doing here Felicity?"

"I could ask you the same."

"I asked you first—twice now."

"I'm trying to find whatever's been testing our firewall for the past month or so. It's not a virus or anything, so it's got to be something that's _in_ the system physically—like a USB or something. We've been checking all the computers for the past two nights so as not to disturb the workflow of the day. There. I've explained myself. Your turn."

"Find anything?" He asked, evasively.

"Would I still be here if I had? What are you doing here, Oliver?"

"This is still sort of my building."

Felicity sighed, too tired to argue. It was suddenly cold and she just wanted to crawl under her sheets and sleep for a couple of hours. She wasn't going to get anything out of Oliver anyway. His behavior was just getting weirder and there was too much weirdness at this point in her life to bother with all the mysteries that seemed to be springing up.

"Good morning then," she said before clicking on the flashlight of her phone to find her way to the elevator.

She took about one step before his hand landed on her lower hip. "You're not going to fight me on that one?"

She turned to face him, "I'm really tired. I'll pass. We'll argue about plenty of other stuff, I'm sure."

He chuckled. "Sounds good."

"Yeah, not really." She smiled. "I am letting you get away with a lot lately so, I've got a tall stack of grievances that I could unleash any day now."

He laughed so loud that she jumped at the sound. It was warm and nice—just like he'd been a couple of minutes ago, even if he had been scaring the life out of her and pinning her against the wall. She still couldn't see him too clearly, but she liked the sound.

 _What is wrong with him and this double personality stuff_? Felicity had seen _this_ side of Oliver quite a few times now and it never failed to give her hope that he was all right, or that he was at least going to be all right. Why did he insist on being the disappointing polar opposite of this as well? And that's what bothered her—the fact that it was on purpose; not just a side-effect of trauma or stress.

"And what's on this supposed list?"

"Oh, you know: you've been lying to me, the 'trust me' thing that's already gotten old, some very questionable behavior, and the touching that I'm only letting you get away with because I was married to you once." With that last remark, she placed her hand over his own and pointedly removed it from her lower hip. She instantly missed the warmth.

"The touching?"

"Yes, Oliver. I swear if it had been any other regular person to pin me up against a wall and then request that I stay quiet—also making me take a phone call without any personal space—I would've hit them where it hurts."

"Well I'm glad that you'll allow me to do all that unharmed and also that you'll injure anyone else." His tone was undiscernible.

"Er—um… well, yes. But _only_ because we were married and you're still getting used to things and—honestly we didn't usually even touch that much when we were married." Her cheeks grew hot and she was again very thankful for the darkness. "I mean—we did sometimes, but you know, you were there—so that's why."

"Noted," he said. She couldn't see, but she had the distinct feeling that he was very amused by the whole conversation.

"Yes, well, you do realize we're two grown people talking in the dark."

"Let's go." He placed his hand on her lower back.

"What did we _just_ talk about?" She was beginning to feel like she was talking to a kid.

"What? With your balance and level of clumsiness you're bound to fall flat on your face. I'm guiding you."

"Then your hand should be on my _upper_ back. That's normal guiding—lower back guiding is for dating, engaged, married people."

"We are married," he reminded her.

She smiled, shaking her head. She let it go.

In the elevator she could finally see him better. He wore a simple t-shirt and jeans—his go-to outfit as of late. It was odd seeing him dressed casually so often. Of course she'd seen him dressed casually when they'd been married—every weekend—but the week was made up of more days and the various suits were worn far more than the jeans and shirts. Once he'd pressed the elevator button he turned towards her, rising his eyebrows and she remembered that she was in jean shorts and a slightly big white sweater.

"I was at home. I figured no one comes to the office at night anyway," she explained in her defense.

"I didn't say anything."

"But you were thinking it."

"I'm sorry."

It took her a minute to register his sudden shift in tone. Dismal and full of shame, it was a complete turn-around from the fun and happy banter they'd been sharing just moments ago.

"I was joking. I didn't mean—"

"No. I'm sorry about the building dedication. I don't regret it. I have my reasons, but I am sorry."

It was an open opportunity to bring it up again—to ask him why he felt so strongly that he needed to be his former self in some aspect, or at least pretend to be, but she didn't want to bring it up again. What good would it do? They were both tired and they'd fought about it already in their own way—where not a single fight was ever really resolved because they always took the easy way out.

"Okay," she replied, stepping out of the elevator.

"That's it? You're not fighting me on this one either?"

"It wouldn't do any good. You won't tell me what those reasons are and I'll get riled up, but you won't play along anymore. And that's good. I'm just—that's the only way that I know you. Not that I only know you when you fight with me, but I can't read you anymore because you keep everything locked up, so when you get angry like you used to, that's when I can pinpoint you. Not that—ughh…I'm tired, Oliver. I'm going to go home. You do the same."

Then she wrapped her arms around him in a hug just because she needed one. "Or you could come with me and I could use you as a warm blanket-pillow."

For once, it wasn't something she'd blurted out. She'd said it deliberately, hoping he would laugh. He did and she let herself enjoy the sound. When that died down she continued: "I've also decided that we shouldn't fight anymore," she said, knowing that when she had more energy she'd probably be the one to pick a fight with him first because that's what she knew and she had to get used to things too, "we're just going to be best friends."

He laughed again at her cheesy comment and she could tell that they were both aware of the fact that that was not impossible exactly—the last couple of weeks had shown them that—but that it would take time and work.

"I'd like that."

"Good, because I won't be arguing about it."

"Should I drive you home?"

"No." But even as she waved him off, her eyes were closing of their own accord.

"I'm driving you home."

Her response was cut off by a yawn and she just followed him to the car.

* * *

She woke up to the sound of knocking on her door. It took her a good five minutes to drag herself out of the bed she didn't remember getting into and through the living room towards the door.

Oliver looked half amused and half annoyed by the time she swung open the door, almost losing her balance in the process. "Good afternoon Felicity. I need your help with something."

She squinted at him, stepping aside as a yawn wracked through her. When she closed the door, her eyes focused a little more. Oliver was once again in jeans and a dark green t-shirt this time. He was holding a laptop—sans bullet holes—and was already sitting at her desk.

"What time is it?" Was all she managed before making straight for her kitchen and the coffee machine.

"12:07 p.m."

"Mhhmmm." The quiet hum of the coffee-maker filled the kitchen and her eyes began to close again.

There was another knock and the door, prompting her eyes to fly open. Oliver was already half-way there. "That's Diggle."

"Who? Oh, you mean John?"

"Yea—where's your robe?"

"Bathroom," she replied, not really comprehending why he asked and not really caring either.

Oliver disappeared into her room for a moment before returning with the thin blue-silk robe. He spun her in place and put it on before spinning her again to tie the ribbon around her waist, covering her cute bunny pajamas. Then he opened the door and let John in.

"Hey Felicity."

"Hi John."

"Long night?"

"Yes, sir. If you're bored one day and wanna look for a tiny USB stick or something, call me up. I've got plenty of ground to cover in the darkened halls of QC."

John looked thoroughly confused. "O…kay?"

The coffee-maker signaled its readiness and Felicity spun around to get some mugs. "Do either of you want coffee?"

"No, thanks," was their unified response.

"Your loss, I have a really nice coffee-maker."

John chuckled, joining Oliver at Felicity's desk where he had already opened the laptop he'd brought with him.

She took her time pouring the coffee before joining them. Oliver had the laptop opened to the desktop and she almost congratulated him sarcastically on the momentous achievement because she'd been under the impression that he'd been looking something up—she'd certainly heard enough typing for it.

"I'm looking for—an old friend. Can you find him?"

Felicity almost dropped the mug. "Well…it's been a few years, but um…there's this thing called _Facebook_ and—"

"Yeah. I told him that. Oliver didn't even have a Myspace account. It was a very dark time," John added.

"He's not on Facebook," Oliver said evenly. She could see him set his jaw in irritation and she had to hide her smile with the coffee mug. "His name is Derek Reston."

"I should add QC Private Detective to my job title—happily, I mean."

Oliver didn't drop the irritated look. Suppressing a sigh, Felicity placed her mug on the desk and made a motion for Oliver to skootch from her desk chair. He didn't get it. "Unless you want me to use your lap as a chair…" she left it hanging. Even so, he sat a moment longer before finally getting up.

This was much easier than the task Walter had bestowed upon her. It really was easy to find…nothing. "There isn't much here. No phone bills, no—oh, you must've met at the factory."

"What factory?"

"The Queen Consolidated steel factory…the one your dad closed in 2007?" She swiveled her chair around, now fully awake. "If you don't even know him…why do you want to find him?"

"I do know him."

"No. You don't. So what's happening here, Oliver?"

There was a long silence, during which Felicity could see him thinking—whatever he would eventually say, it wouldn't be the truth.

"We're trying to find the Vigilante," John said.

It made sense…as much as it didn't make sense. Oliver's clenched jaw told her that it was the truth—or part of it at least. What she couldn't comprehend was _why_. "I believe you," she said, pointing at John, "but what does some random former employee have to do with it and _why_ are you looking for a dangerous, bow-wielding manic?"

"Because we think that Derek may be The Hood."

Felicity looked back at the ID picture. It didn't go past the shoulders, but it certainly wasn't the picture of a man who wore a hood and went around putting arrows into people. He was too much of a regular-joe-looking guy. Put that together with the fact that there were just too many open variables—how did they even come to think of Derek Reston if Oliver didn't know the guy, what would they gain from knowing his identity, why was John involved?

"And why do you want to find The Hood?"

Oliver looked up at the ceiling, "Just want to thank him for saving me—and um…see if he knows anything about why the guys kidnapped me in the first place."

John looked like he wanted to face palm himself, but refrained from doing so.

Felicity drained her mug of its final contents. "Right. Perfectly reasonable reason to go looking for a crazy guy with good aim."

John nodded slowly, his expression blank. "I'll be in the car."

They watched him leave together in silence. The slight _click_ of the door closing was the only sound for some time. Felicity tried not to think about how all of this was odd—of how, ever since Oliver had returned, there seemed to be no rest from the bizarre. And, she couldn't shake the feeling that the hooded guy was somehow following her—not specifically _her_ perhaps but every news story, every mysterious incident she'd been asked to investigate, every odd thing that seemed to happen to Oliver…she had no proof that some of those things were connected to The Hood, but she was sure that they all were.

"Sleep well?" He asked awkwardly.

"Ye—Yeah…I did. I did have this weird dream though—really weird." He tilted his head and she assumed that that meant she should continue. "You were in it. Ha! It—we were in Queen Consolidated and it was dark and you…um…pinned me against a wall—not in a sexual kind of way! We—we were just talking and then Mark from IT came up to the floor we were on, but we were hiding from him for some reason. And then we argued, but not much. It was kind of nice actually—not the arguing just the talking. And I _think_ you ended up driving me home but I have no idea what happened after that."

Oliver didn't say anything. He suddenly looked serious again, resuming that rigid expression and posture that seemed to be his new line of defense against human interaction or connection. "I should go."

Her cheeks began to burn. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why would you tell him about that dream? First that stupid conversation about trusting him and now this! What is wrong with you?!_

He reached around her for the laptop. Her stupid mind went straight to the fact that he was very close and that she could feel his breath just above her eyebrow. It was uncomfortable—him reaching around her—because she could feel that he was uncomfortable. Something was drastically different from the moment he'd walked in, wrapped her in a robe, and asked her to find some guy he didn't even know. The strain was almost too much to bear and she wanted to scream—just to get him to do something like yell at her or laugh at her.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean—I shouldn't have told you about the dream."

He stepped back, laptop in hand. "Nothing to be sorry for. I just have to go." Leaning in, he placed a ghost of a kiss on her forehead. "Thank you." And then he was gone and the _click_ of the door closing echoed in her head.

The kiss on the forehead and the 'thank you' all felt too foreign—like the day he'd gotten back and two strangers who'd lived together as strangers for years were just beginning to realize that they were human beings. Again, she felt like she'd been kicked back to square one with Oliver.

* * *

Her life was Oliver-free for a few weeks after that. He became some kind of elusive creature. She heard _of_ him, but never saw him. At first it had been disappointing and, quite frankly, frustrating. He'd taken up all her time without actually being there because she couldn't stop herself from worrying if his non-presence was somehow her fault. It also didn't help that Derek Reston was quickly found _not_ being The Hood, but rather being a bank robber which The Hood was after. This time, The Hood didn't put an arrow in the guy, but he died all the same when a security guard shot him during a fight in which The Hood was involved. It was too coincidental—too close. There really was only one explanation, but she had a hard time thinking of Oliver as her husband, she sure as _hell_ wasn't ready to think of him as some vigilante. Maybe it was all a coincidence…She hoped so, at least.

Somehow she managed to also keep her life relatively Queen-free in those weeks. Moira was busy, always looking slightly over-worked. It struck Felicity as odd. Why would she look overworked _now_? She'd always been able to handle anything the company threw at her and now that her son was home, albeit he was rather distant and unpredictable, she should have been less stressed; a five-year-long mystery finally closed. Thea was busy as well—sometimes with school, sometimes with friends that Felicity didn't approve of though they weren't _that_ bad. With everything that Thea had been through, it could have been worse.

Walter was the only one that she saw now and then, working late as usual. He was his calm self, as always and, even though she wasn't particularly close to Walter, it gave her some sense of comfort that _someone_ was able to keep it together while the rest of them just unraveled at the seams. She hadn't gotten any further with the Tempest thing. All she had was the company name and weird circle image that she assumed to be the logo. She'd run the logo through various databases as well…nothing. She'd eventually given the logo to Walter, who calmly thanked her and told her that she need not look further into the matter—apparently he'd finally talked to Moira. Something was off—she could feel that there was more to the whole thing that just the circle and the missing money—but she would be lying if she said that she didn't feel somewhat relieved to be done with the whole thing.

"Mrs. Queen?"

Felicity snapped her attention back to the multi-millionaire across the restaurant table. Brent Collin was the young, well-educated grandson of Anthony Collin, the CEO of _Collin Tech_. They were one of QC's best business partners, though the company was mainly based in Central City, and they met a few times a year to go over some things—really, it was an excuse for Anthony to take small mini-vacations away from the office because they mostly discussed pleasantries. This time, however, a company emergency had forced Anthony to stay in Central City and he'd sent his grandson instead.

"Felicity," she reminded him.

"Right. Are you all right? Would you like me to ask for some water or something else?"

"No. I'm fine, sorry. I just have a lot on my mind right now."

The truth of the matter was that he was boring her. She'd gotten used to Anthony's informal conversation and lack of actual business talk. Brent was all business—going over fiscal numbers, pending patents, and even trademarked names that had yet to be assigned to any specific projects. Her guess: the grandfather had given this to him as one of his first big assignments and had probably told the poor man not to screw it up in that stern voice that all grandfathers use with their grandsons. The result: a dinner that seemed to drag on forever.

"Yes, of course. Mr. Queen has only just gotten back from—you know—" Brent cleared his throat and reached for the wine glass to keep from having to go on.

The words made it sound as if Oliver had voluntarily gone and become part of some secret club or something for five years, instead of having been stranded on a remote island. Still, she could see that he meant no offense by it. His grey eyes were very earnest, a contrast to his otherwise structurally angled features. To put it very simply: he looked like he'd been sculpted by the Greeks themselves—genetic lottery type stuff. Despite this, he was nervous, shy, and very concerned with what people thought of him; she could tell by the way he often paused in conversation to see if what he'd said was all right. He was no millionaire playboy. And _that_ was probably the most interesting thing about the whole evening.

"Yes, that has been a bit of an adjustment—still is. But, you were saying?"

"Well, I'm supposed to report back to my grandfather tonight over the phone and I'll be staying a few more days. He'd like it very much if we could meet again. Queen Consolidated is our top client, you see, and he just wants to make sure that relations are running smoothly—just let me know if they aren't by the way Mrs. Queen, well get on to fixing whatever it is as soon as possible."

"Felicity."

"Sorry—Felicity." Brent looked away, staring at the white tablecloth.

Felicity couldn't see his hands, but she was imaging that he was sitting on them, like people do when they're cold or nervous. He just seemed like he would do a thing like that, in a suit worth a few hundred, at a business meeting. He was boring, yes, and not very sure of himself, but she liked him all the same. There was something very genuine about him.

"I'm—I'm supposed to be taking over the Queen Consolidated account in the future. I hope that's all right. I know how accustomed QC is to my grandfather…" He looked up at her again, "He talks about you a lot. Meeting once in a while to talk over the businesses is one of his favorite things to do. I think he just likes the fact that you know computers—know what you're talking about."

Felicity smiled. "Your grandfather is very nice. He's also very smart. I'm sure that he's right to put you in charge of the business deals with Queen Consolidated, going forward."

Brent smiled then, straightening in his chair. "Yes, well I'll certainly work hard to make sure that that's the case."

Her phone rang before she could reply: **Oliver Queen** ** _._**

The best course of action, she knew, was to ignore it. Whatever it was, it could wait. Besides, she hadn't talked to him in a few weeks and she didn't exactly want to have a conversation in front of Brent Collin.

He'd seen the screen light up with Oliver's name though. "Should you get that? I've kept you long enough anyway. I'll be here for a couple of days, we'll meet again some other time."

She wasn't planning to get it, but it was a way out. She was tired, so she took it. "Thank you. We'll meet again. You have my number, call me tomorrow and we'll set something up. Don't worry about the tab, it's a company dinner." The ringing stopped. She stood and walked over to his side of the table. He stood as well and they shared a quick good-bye hug before she weaved her way out of the restaurant and into the car.

* * *

Oliver was waiting for her in the lobby of her apartment building. She saw him as she was walking up to the door. He sat with his arms resting on his knees, looking down.

"Hey."

He looked up at her. She suddenly felt like her red skirt was just a tad too short for the business meeting she'd just had and like her white blouse was slightly too-nearly see-through. "Hi. You look nice." He sounded tired.

"Thank you. Would you like to come up? I mean—I'm guessing that's why you're here this late. Not—not in _that_ way. I mean to talk like we do—well, not like we usually do or anything, but lately we talk sometimes…"

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. It wasn't a whole smile. "Lead the way."

They didn't talk in the elevator, or the hallway, or even once they were inside her apartment. She watched as he ignored the living room and went right into her bedroom. It felt odd to watch him walk in there, like he'd been there before—like it was nothing strange. Perhaps it wasn't. They'd been married after all, but it still felt strange. Eventually, she followed, and found him sitting at the edge of the bed, looking even more tired than he had in the lobby. There was a contemplative look that bordered on sadness and it seemed to run from his face straight through the rest of his body.

"Is everything okay?" She asked.

"I'm just—tired."

She nodded. "Anything I can do?"

Oliver was quiet for so long after that that she sat down beside him on the bed and almost dozed off.

"We keep doing this push and pull thing and it's just exhausting…" he said.

She'd felt it too—from the moment he'd come back they'd gone back and forth between being friends and being somewhat angry and incredibly distant in very quick and odd intervals. "I know. I'm tired of it too, but it's not going to end anytime soon Oliver...We're just getting to know each other after all this time, and you've been through hell, and it isn't even just about us—there's a family waiting for you to come back and friends…No one knows what they're doing. We're just trying our best."

He sighed. "I know." Oliver began fidgeting and she watched his right hand draw circles in his left palm. "It wasn't a dream."

"What?"

"The dream you told me you'd had about us in QC at night—it wasn't a dream."

She suddenly felt a little light-headed, like the night's wine was finally catching up to her. Of course she'd known that it wasn't all a dream. She had been looking for the breach in the firewall at night for a couple of days, and she'd had to take a taxi to work the next day, but she'd still thought that she'd made all the rest of it up…

"Oh…"

"I drove you home. You wanted to put on the bunny pajamas. You insisted." He chuckled, "You told me where to find them in your closet…"

She didn't really know where Oliver was going with this, but it was embarrassing enough as it was. "Oh, God, what did I say? Please tell me I didn't say anything really stupid. In my defense, I was apparently half-asleep. People can't really control what they say or do in their half-sleep, you know?"

"I just have one question."

"What is that?"

"I saw my clothes in your closet and—"

Shit. Felicity let her eyes move to the closet for a moment and mentally cursed herself for not hiding the clothes better. She couldn't see them now, but clothes she'd taken belonging to Oliver were the first thing that you saw when you opened the closet—almost like he lived there and she just happened to move in with him. "I can explain—"

He placed a hand on her knee to stop her and then he quickly retracted it. "Sorry. I just—that's not my question."

"Oh…" Whether or not that was his question, the damage was already done; he'd seen the clothes and probably the guilt that she'd carried with them. Again, he'd seen so much more of her than she'd seen of him. She hated it, but maybe that was just the way things were going to be from now on…Still, it didn't mean that she had to like it.

"Why did you show up?"

"What? Show up to what, Oliver?"

He sat up, tearing his gaze away from the floor and turning his attention to her. She didn't want to face him at that moment because she was sure he'd read everything on her apparently transparent face.

"Felicity?"

"Yes?" He remained quiet, his eyes drilling holes into the side of her face. "What?" She asked in irritation as she turned towards him.

"I spent a lot of time thinking about it. There really was no reason for us to show up to the wedding. Our families were just as well-off financially, business between the two companies could have occurred without anyone needing to marry anyone; the only real risk was upsetting our parents and, as far as risks go, we both know they would have gotten over it eventually. Why then, did you show up?"

The question had often popped up in her head, both while they were married and in the time that he'd been missing. Felicity knew that there was an answer—some reason must have compelled her to show up to her own wedding—but she'd never allowed herself to reflect on what that reason was.

"Why did you show up?" She asked.

He let out a half-chuckle. "I think it was because I knew that you were—are—a good person…I was a mess. As much as I liked the constant partying and drinking and women, I knew that it couldn't go on forever. And eventually, when it stopped, who was going to want to be with me then? And I mean, of their own will for reasons that had nothing to do with my family money. You were good, about twenty times smarter than me, about twenty times more responsible, beautiful…Where the hell was I going to get all of that on my own?" He shrugged, patting her hand on the bed, "I showed up, because I had nothing to lose. And if you showed up, well, then I won the lottery…But, like I said, you're twenty times smarter than me, you weren't supposed to show up…"

"But I did…" It was the first time she'd heard him say any of that. The only thing she'd heard before was that she was smarter than he was, but he'd only ever said that occasionally when they were married and it had never been to her, rather to whomever he was introducing her to. She didn't know what to say, or feel, or—anything. She wanted to hug him, cry, laugh, yell, and run away all at once.

"You did. Why did you?"

"I don't know…I didn't really want anything to do with you. You had quite the track record and some of those behaviors continued after we were married—just like I knew they would. I really don't know why I showed up."

Even as she was saying it, the reason came back to her like a memory awakening from a long slumber. He knew too much already though and she was afraid that saying it aloud would ruin everything—make her believe that they could work, only to cause both of them more suffering. They'd been through enough, she decided.

"I don't know why I showed up," she continued, "but I did. I put on the dress and walked down the aisle and I married you. And, you know what, it wasn't all bad. It wasn't _good,_ and we didn't really get anywhere past disliking each other most of the time, but it wasn't all bad."

He nodded silently, turning his attention to the wall. "I think we're doing this back and forth thing because we don't know where we are, or what we're doing…" He glanced at her closet. "Get rid of those clothes. I'm here now. We can decide what to do and move on. What do you want to do?"

Felicity couldn't help it, she flung her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Lone droplets left her eyes one at a time and she knew that he could feel them against his skin, but he said nothing. He just held onto her. She thought, perhaps he knew, just like he seemed to know everything she thought and felt these days; perhaps he knew that she was just happy he was back and that he'd been the one to say it.

"We need to get a divorce," she mumbled into his skin after some time. She felt his chest rise and fall in the rhythm of a deep breath.

"Then that's what we have to do."

Neither of them moved for a long time.

* * *

 **A/N: That's it for Chapter 4! I hope you liked it. Please let me know what you think; I read all of your comments and messages.**

 **Like I said, we'll be getting Oliver's POV soon (I'm saving it for after Felicity finds out about Oliver's bow-wielding skills).**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: It's been forever, I know... But I've officially graduated college, so that's what I've been doing haha!**

 **This chapter has been half finished for the longest time, but now I've finally done it. It's long and jumps around a bit, but it moves the story where I need it to go so that we can finally get Oliver's POV and get into the conflict between his Arrow life and his already complicated married/not really married life.**

 **They are both OOC in this, but I'm sure you've noticed that already in the previous chapters. They just have to be based on what has happened between them.**

 **I hope you like it!**

* * *

They were almost through all of the clothes, but it didn't feel right—it should've. It should've felt like a chapter finally closing with all of the corresponding pages. Instead it felt oddly like she was simply skimming pages—not reading every word and taking the time to let it all process. Maybe that's how it was supposed to feel. Rushed and odd. Maybe the processing and clarity would come later.

"I think that the—" Oliver cut off when she jumped at the sound of his voice. She hadn't heard him come back into the room. She felt his hand rest on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. Is everything all right?"

She turned to look at him, nodding. It was the wrong thing to do. He looked worried, his head tilted as if that would help him figure out what it was that was bothering her. She almost smiled at that—a part of her felt a bit triumphant at the fact that she had finally hidden _something_ from him. Even if she didn't really know what it was she was hiding.

His head straightened and his expression changed. He just held her gaze and, it occurred to her that she wanted to stay there. For a little bit, at least. It was, after all, potentially the last time that they would do this—whatever this was. He broke away abruptly, blinking a couple of times as if he was clearing his head. Then he moved to the closet without a word.

Oliver took a suit jacket of his off of the hanger before she could protest and made to throw it in the considerably larger "donate" pile. His shoulders were broader now—his arms more defined. He no longer fit into a lot of the things that she had taken with her from their married days.

Felicity watched in a half-daze as the suit jacket landed on top of the pile of clothes. And before she knew what she was doing, she reached for it. "That's mine," she said.

Oliver looked genuinely confused for a moment. But she could see his realization in the way that his lips twitched in an almost smile just before his eyes turned sad. "I'm _pretty_ sure that doesn't fit you," he said. It was supposed to be funny—he was trying to make it funny to save her the embarrassment of just wanting to keep the damned thing.

Why did she want to keep it? They needed a divorce. What kind of healthy new start involved keeping your ex-husband's old suit-jacket?

"Felicity," he began gently. "The point is to get _rid_ of the clothes…"

"Your clothes, yes. This is mine. You gave it to me. No take-backs."

He'd never given her the jacket for keeps—not really. But he'd loaned it to her often enough. All she knew is that she wanted to keep this and that that wasn't really advisable.

"Felicity—" Oliver's phone rang, cutting him off. He sighed and stepped away from her to take the call. She heard him curse under his breath. "I'll be there as soon as I can…Yes…I'm coming now…" He hung up.

Where did he have to go? It was odd not knowing. That was one thing about their marriage. He'd always told her where he was going—even if he knew it would make her mad, or start a fight. He'd told her anyway.

"I have to go Felicity. I'm so sorry. I'll come back tomorrow to pick all of this up and either donate it or take it home."

"Or you could take it now. We're done."

Oliver's eyes flickered to the suit-jacket in her hands and a red hoodie with a corvette on the front that still hung in her closet. "Felicity—why would you even want to keep any of this? Isn't it all just bad memories?"

She shook her head, laughing bitterly because she could feel herself instinctively steeling for a fight. She'd told him before it wasn't all bad—he just didn't listen. "It wasn't all bad. And, in my defense, you actually did give that to me," she said, gesturing towards the red hoodie.

He sighed and she could hear the frustration in it. "Still. Why would you want to keep anything? You didn't even like me—we weren't anything close to a normal married couple the majority of the time."

"I like you now."

It took her a moment to realize she'd said it out loud. Oliver smiled.

"I mean—I like you as a person. You seem nice—not that you weren't before. It's just different now, and so I like you—as a person."

He chuckled. "I know what you meant."

His phone went off again. She expected him to turn suddenly serious. That was the norm now whenever his phone went off, or whenever he had somewhere to go. But he let himself laugh a little longer before telling her that he really had to go. He was gone in the next few minutes, leaving her behind with a pile of clothes, a confused set of thoughts, and a smile—because he'd laughed and she'd made it happen.

* * *

Felicity made it to dinner early on purpose. She just wanted a few moments to herself—no, scratch that, she needed to pre-drink before Mr. Collin arrived. He was sweet and endearing, but the boringness was enough to overshadow all of that. This time she would be prepared.

She was on her third glass of wine when a hand trailed itself from the edge of her left shoulder to the base of her neck, sending a very violent and visible shiver down her spine. A pair of lips landed firmly against her right cheek at the same time.

"I thought this was a business meeting," Oliver whispered against her skin, placing another firm kiss on her cheek before sitting down on the chair beside hers.

Felicity was trying so hard not to open her mouth, for fear that some unintended sound or sentence would escape, that she couldn't answer him just then. She could see Oliver call the waiter over, sitting comfortably in a new light-grey suit, but he wasn't really in focus. Most of her energy was focused on replying the last few seconds in her memory—for clarity of the situation, of course, she reasoned. But really, part of her brain had figured it out already. They were in a densely-populated restaurant and people weren't even _trying_ to look like they were casually turning their heads; everyone was staring quite openly. He'd done it for show.

The waiter appeared and Oliver asked for a glass of wine, glancing over at her to see if she needed a refill. She didn't. Her glass was half-full—which, by wine standards, meant full—but Felicity held up her finger, downing the remaining wine in front of the very confused looking waiter and an amused Oliver. He asked for two glasses.

"Seriously," Oliver said, lifting the tablecloth slightly to survey the hem of her body-con flower-print dress, "I thought this was a business meeting."

Her head got a little lighter as the two glasses of wine began kicking in. The third wouldn't be far behind and there was another one on the way, so she assumed that it was relatively safe to speak—she could always allege drunkenness if she ended up saying something stupid.

"It _is_ a business meeting."

"Perhaps you should drink slower then…and maybe wear a longer dress." There was neither disapproval nor playful amusement in his tone. It was all said very gently, as if he was giving her friendly advice.

Felicity smoothed her hands over her dress distractedly. "My dress isn't that short." Oliver gave her a blank look—the look that says: _I don't believe you, and you don't believe you._ "No one is going to see it anyway. I'm sitting," she added.

Oliver said nothing in response. The waiter returned with the two glasses of red wine.

"Why are you here?" Felicity asked once the waiter was gone.

"Everyone wants me to take part in QC, so I'm doing that—baby steps. The low-key, not-in-office meetings first and then we'll go from there…maybe," he took a sip of his wine.

Felicity pinched the bridge of her nose, still working on turning off the replay button in her head because she could still feel exactly where his hand had made a path and where his lips had pressed into her cheek. _Stop it!_

"Oliver, I appreciate that, but this was not the right meeting to come to."

He looked at her glass of wine and then down at the tablecloth. He didn't lift it this time, but she knew what he was trying to say.

"No—I don't mean that. It's just that Mr. Collin is shy and you'll scare him," she clarified.

"The multi-million-dollar bachelor is shy?"

"He is—wait, how do you know he's a bachelor?"

Oliver pulled up some tacky tabloid article from some obscure Central City publication on his phone: _Central Celebrity_. There was lots of text and many awkward pictures of Brent Collin. None of the pictures showed his face—the most they got was his arm and there was one where you could see his messy hair. The title literally read: _Central's Multi-Million-Dollar Bachelor_.

"I do my research," Oliver said.

Felicity rolled her eyes. "You see? He's shy. They can't even get his face."

"Mr. Queen…" Brent said warily from somewhere behind her.

Oliver turned and smoothly rose from his chair, extending his hand. "Mr. Collin."

Felicity got out of her chair as well and the look of utter horror on Brent's face, which he was doing a terrible job of trying to mask as surprise, told her that she'd been right. This was not the meeting that Oliver should have come to. Now, it was going to be filled with an array of awkward silences and moments of odd eye-contact as Brent rethought everything he was about to say. Last time had been exhausting enough.

"Mr. Collin," she said politely, hugging him briefly.

"Feli—Mrs. Queen."

She saw Oliver do a quick assessment of the young millionaire. He said nothing and his expression remained exceptionally polite, but she could practically see the wheels turning in his head. Oliver's smile bordered on no-smile at all and she could, miraculously, read it as the smile he used when he was caught off guard but was trying to look like everything was just as he expected it. They moved back to the table and Oliver pulled out her chair for her, leaning dangerously close to her. "I thought this was a business meeting," he said for the third time.

The dinner began terribly, with Brent often starting a sentence and deciding not to end it, averting his gaze to the tablecloth as he thought of a better way to say what he wanted to say. Felicity almost wished that there was a way she could signal him—to let him know that Oliver knew absolutely nothing about hardware or software and that he could just say what he needed to without trying to sound _extra_ smart.

By the time the main course rolled out, Felicity was fighting to keep the polite, seemingly interested look on her face. Oliver was unreadable, but Felicity had to give him credit; he nodded and smiled and did everything on cue—it was all fake, of course, but it was on cue. Oliver turned to her suddenly, placing his hand over hers. She looked at it awkwardly for just a second too long and then blinked.

"Hmm?" She'd been staring at him, she realized, and she wasn't even sure how long she'd been doing it, or why.

Oliver chuckled at her momentary confusion. Brent smiled and excused himself, heading in the direction of the bathroom.

"You all right?" Oliver asked. He leaned in as if to inspect her. He was really close, his blue eyes boring holes into her own. She noticed, not for the first time, that they changed color— his eyes. They were lighter now, soft and bright, like the last five years hadn't happened at all.

The dullest hint of red against his jaw caught her attention as she looked away. She touched it without even thinking about it and he caught her hand gently.

"Shaving hazard," he explained.

Really, what other explanation was there? Of course, it was a shaving mishap. It was in the right place, a small and narrow enough cut to fit the blades of a razor…But her mind went to other things—things that lurked in the shadows, shooting arrows and breaking the law.

Oliver's reassuring smile faded out and he pressed his lips together. "It really doesn't hurt at all—happens all the time."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she heard herself say. She wasn't sure where it had come from, or what she actually meant by it, but it had slipped out and Felicity saw exactly how Oliver's expression flickered to one of alarm before returning back to normal.

Felicity didn't have to look around to know that everyone was watching them. They were leaning into each other for completely different reasons, but from an outsider's perspective, there was only one way the scene could end. She closed the remaining space between them and placed a long, lingering kiss on his lips.

He reciprocated, neither of them really doing anything other than holding each other there. His lips were surprisingly soft—and warm—so different to the rest of him that now seemed to be solid and unmovable and calculating. She wondered absently if they'd always been that way, soft and warm…And then he pulled away slightly so that he was still only inches away. He averted his gaze, looking down at their legs.

"I'm all right."

He was probably talking about the supposed "shaving hazard," but she wasn't quite sure and it didn't matter anyway because she didn't believe him.

"Okay," she said so that he knew she wasn't convinced, and then she pulled back.

Every eye in the room was on them. Even a passing waiter stared, wine bottle in hand. But that was the point, wasn't it? It was all part of the show.

Brent returned and they continued their awkward existence at the dinner table. He got somewhat comfortable with Oliver by the time desert rolled around—she could tell because he finished his sentences quicker, without thinking too much. And then the dinner was over and they said their goodbyes and Oliver was taking her hand in his and leading her out.

She let the charade continue all the way to her car and then she pressed her back against the car door to look at him. He looked perfectly at ease in his new suit. It was the way she'd known him day in, and day out for—well, for all of the time that she'd known him. She let her hand slip out of his, and he buried his empty hand in his pant-pocket, looking out into the parking lot.

"You know they're all just going to find out that we're getting a divorce and then just make a bigger deal out of the whole thing, don't you?" she asked, when she realized he wasn't going to say anything.

He didn't turn to look at her, but she could see him smile, "You mean the people in there that we _don't_ know and that _don't_ matter to us?" He met her eyes. The hand that wasn't in his pocket reached out to her for a moment, but he thought better of it and dropped it, smile still in place. "Yes, I'm very concerned with what they'll think."

His tone was so calm, so carefree. It didn't sound like him, but it was and she wondered where _this_ Oliver was hiding and why he didn't come out more often. She laughed just because she liked this side of him. She noticed him nod to himself—almost as if he was congratulating himself for making her laugh.

"I'm thinking though—divorce or not—I should start coming to your business meetings."

Felicity knew that he was being funny again. She was supposed to laugh, but he'd said 'divorce or not' as if it wasn't already decided. That's not even what bothered her. What bothered her was the fact that she wasn't bothered by the way he'd said it. She should have been. It _was_ decided. She could almost hear the door creak—that forbidden door that had once held things behind it that had led her to believe a marriage to Oliver Queen wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

She heard an awkward laugh pass her lips as she tried to cover up the thoughts that were probably writing themselves on her face. "Do you need a ride?" she asked quickly.

"No. John should be here…there he is."

The Queen family car pulled up beside them and she waved at John, who smiled, waving back.

"Will you be okay?" Oliver asked.

Felicity had almost expected Oliver to instantly become the unreadable man she'd come to know over the past few weeks, but he still looked the same as he had a moment ago; relaxed and comfortable. It suddenly seemed absurd that he could, in any way, be connected to this hooded man. She almost had to laugh at her earlier-self in the restaurant. Even so, some dark corner of her mind was reminding her of the questions he'd been asking her lately, of the five years she still knew nothing about, and of the many scars she hadn't even seen yet…

"I will," she said.

"Okay." He hugged her.

It was awkward after their whole performance. Oliver pulled away and she averted her gaze to the floor for a moment. When she looked up and met his eyes again he was smiling as if they'd just seen the funniest thing in the world. She didn't want to laugh, but she couldn't help it. Oliver shrugged and winked at her as if they'd just shared an inside joke. In a way, they had.

* * *

Tommy poked his head into her office early the next morning. "Hello there."

Felicity looked up from her tablet, glancing at Jane's empty desk for a brief moment before waving Tommy in. "Good morning. How are you?"

Tommy spread his hands wide, smiling. "You know. Billionaire playboy; not really in _need_ for a job; best friend is back from the dead—all in all, I'm pretty good."

Felicity shook her head, pushing away from her desk to stand and give Tommy a hug. "So now that this best friend of yours is back, what does that make me?"

He laughed. "That makes you _still_ my best friend."

"I'm in second place though—don't even _try_ to lie. You didn't like me for the longest time."

"In my defense, I was being loyal to my _original_ best friend—the man you married—and it was all before I got to know you properly."

"Hmm…" Felicity pulled back from the hug to glare at him mockingly before returning to the chair behind her desk.

Tommy paused a moment, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "You seem…very happy."

There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice—something that bordered on worry and disapproval for some reason. And Felicity couldn't quite understand _why_ that was there. Tommy was usually all about making sure that his friends were happy. That was just the way that he was. She didn't answer. Instead she just looked at him questioningly and he did the same. It reminded her of the time before they were friends—when Felicity hadn't exactly known what to make of the charismatic but slightly bad-influencing best friend of the man she'd married. For the longest time, they'd never shared more than a few pleasantries with one another. The absolute bare minimum needed to not come off as completely rude. Now that she thought about it, it wasn't much better than what she'd shared with Oliver a lot of the time.

Things changed when Oliver couldn't make one of the movie dates he'd scheduled with Thea. They'd volunteered to fill in for him and then Thea decided not to show up either—last-minute plans with her friends had gotten in the way, leaving them quite alone at the movies—just her and Tommy. On top of all that, the movie was rubbish, so they'd left early and they'd talked. It wasn't a long road to "best-friendom" after that.

"Felicity. Are you—happy?" There it was again. The same worry and disapproval laced into his tone.

"I am."

"How?"

 _How? "_ What do you mean how?"

"I mean…how can you be with all of this…" He gestured at the office, but she knew that he meant the larger spectrum of her life.

"You just said…Billionaire, Oliver's back… I've got nothing to complain about."

"You're also getting a divorce."

"Yes." Felicity shook her head, "Have you not been paying attention? A divorce is what we've needed since—since we got married."

Tommy nodded, but she could tell that he wasn't convinced. "I did run into Oliver the other day…it seems like you guys are getting along."

"We are getting along. The way that you and I—oh, no. I'm guessing there are rumors about the restaurant the other night?"

The confused look on Tommy's face was instant and enough to make her wish she'd kept her mouth shut. It was too early to be explaining these things.

"Restaurant?"

Felicity sighed. "Never mind. Long story-short—Oliver and I put on a bit of a performance when he met me for a business meeting at a restaurant a few nights ago. That's not important. What did he tell you?"

Tommy was quiet for a moment and Felicity watched as the look of worry and disapproval disappeared. It was replaced by an expression she could only describe as exhaustion and something else she couldn't quite decipher. "Not much—just that you two have been on speaking terms. Forget I said anything. I'm just reading too much into things I guess."

"Hmmm… And why are you reading into things?"

Tommy looked away from her towards the city. "I hope you stay friends Felicity. I—sometimes I don't think that Oliver really is as fine as he pretends to be. I don't know what happened to him, but I get the feeling that he wasn't exactly alone with his thoughts for five years. He needs you."

Felicity was suddenly very happy that Tommy kept his gaze firmly fixed on the window. She wasn't sure what her face looked like just then, but the shock and prickling in her eyes wasn't what she wanted to show Tommy right at that moment. She knew—they all did—that Tommy was right. Oliver couldn't have spent the five years alone with his thoughts. The scars had an origin—perhaps multiple _origins_ —so he couldn't have spent the five years alone. The thing was, they didn't want to think about where the scars had come from, or what they had done to Oliver, so everybody was content going along with the façade. Even she was content with it.

"He has you. He has Thea and Moira. I'll be here—I'm not saying I won't—but he doesn't _need_ me. He needs people, yes, but that doesn't mean me."

Tommy nodded. "I just meant—you've got a better chance at reaching him." He turned back to look at her.

"Why's that?"

"Because this friendship's pretty new. It's always harder to open up and expose your new self to the people who've known you longest. Those people expect things from you. They expect the person that they've known. You knew him, sure, but you weren't really friends. I mean, on occasion you were, but you guys never really got to know each other on that deep level, you know? Or maybe you did…I don't know. Either way, this friendship and relationship you have with him now is pretty new, so it might be easier for him to be whoever he is now, with you. You have no pre-established expectations." Tommy shook his head, clearing his throat a couple of times before reverting to his usual roguish smile. "Just a thought."

It made sense. And there was something exciting in the possibility of breaking through. She'd seen through some cracks over the past few weeks. She'd even seen a few genuine smiles. The mere thought warmed the pit of her stomach just a little. She _wanted_ to break through—to know Oliver better than they all did. Even if it was just for a few minutes.

Felicity hated it too—that need, or want, or whatever it was. If she pursued that mission of breaking through to Oliver, she would be even further from her original mission of getting further away from him. Friends, sure, but nothing more. No deep, emotional connections—that would just be confusing. The casual friend that would met up for coffee was just fine.

"Tommy, I should get back to work."

"Of course. I'll leave you to it. I have to meet up Oliver anyway. He said something about opening a night club or something."

And there it was again: Oliver, playboy billionaire. Between his very convincing little act, very unreadable wall, and the very haunted pieces that she sometimes glimpsed through the cracks, it was very hard to even guess at what Oliver needed.

"Yeah. Sounds like Oliver. What were you saying about Oliver not being fine?" She joked.

Tommy laughed, coming around the desk to hug her before heading out.

* * *

She was the first in the room. It was bare, save for the long conference table and the matching office chairs—all very practical. She'd grown up in and around corporate offices, but they had never felt like this conference room. There was something sterile about it—something cold. But maybe that's what she needed. Yes, that's exactly what she needed.

Felicity set her things on the table and then moved away to the far end of the room to view the beautiful painting of an empty countryside landscape. It almost took up the entire wall and there was an endless quality to the painting. It seemed that the countryside went far beyond the horizon somehow—a sea of green grass.

"It's late."

She smiled. "We have to work around our schedules."

"I know. I just wanted to say it." Oliver said from somewhere behind her.

"I know…"

The air-conditioning somehow grew colder and she wrapped her arms around herself, still lost in the painting. The comforting weight of a jacket was laid on her shoulders moments later. It was nice. It helped stave off the chill, but it wasn't warm. A hug would've been better, she thought, but then she remembered where she was standing and who had placed the jacket on her shoulders and she shook that thought away immediately.

"This won't take long," she found herself saying as she turned to face him.

"I think that that's what they all say," Oliver replied, tilting his head slightly in amusement.

"Maybe if we were still those people—the ones from five years ago—but now…"

Oliver's expression flashed to concern. His blue eyes turned dark—almost grey like clouds rolling in for a winter storm. His left hand came to rest over the jacket on her shoulder. His right hand hovered just below her chin, fingers stretching out to brush against the skin of her jaw. "What do you mean? Why aren't you the same? You should be…"

It took some time to process the whole thing. His fingers against her skin were warm…his eyes were hard and cold. And his voice was somewhere between a whisper of rage and sadness, so that even in this state of vivid emotions she had no idea what he was feeling.

"I couldn't be the same person, Oliver." She said it softly and slowly. It was like talking to a child. "Five years is…long. You're not the same person either."

"Yes, but you've been here," he said as if that meant that time should've stood still for her.

"And you were out there. It doesn't matter. Even if you'd been here, we would've both changed. Time does that."

Oliver closed his eyes, whether from exhaustion or to hide some emotion from her, Felicity did not know. "Right."

"This won't take long," she repeated.

Oliver opened his eyes and stepped back. There was hint of a smile on his lips. "You're really not going to fight for anything—you know, I have seen how you look at my Rolex collection."

Felicity couldn't help the laugh that escaped her. "Please, if I was going to fight you on anything it would be that collection of Mont Blanc pens—or the BMW."

"You already drive a BMW."

"Yes, but you've got the 540i. Mine's only a 340i."

Oliver shook his head. "The horror." She could see the lawyers approaching the glass double doors of the conference room. Oliver sidestepped her and came to stand so that his lips were closer to her ear. "Right. Let's be unhappy rich people, shall we? I think the lawyers will try harder that way."

Felicity masked her laughter with a few inconspicuous coughs just as the lawyers came through the door.

Sitting across from Oliver with her lawyer was a situation she'd always thought was inevitable. And here she was. Still, she never imagined that she'd be in such a great mood. This friendship thing with Oliver was going to work out just fine. That thought deflated her mood a little.

Oliver had been in such good spirits these past few days. She _liked_ spending time with him. He made her laugh and she made him laugh in turn. It was more than nice. It was something she looked forward to. But her conversation with Tommy that morning was just as real as Oliver's smiles, jokes, and chuckles were. The conversation was just as real as the scars were. And so, it was, in some way, wrong—the laughter and jokes. _Something_ had happened in five years and while she was sure that it was good for Oliver to be happy, to joke and laugh, she was also sure that he needed to work out some of what had happened to him somehow. As far as she knew, he wasn't seeing a therapist. And he wasn't talking to any of them about it. So how was he working it out?

Oliver's phone rang loudly then, interrupting his lawyer's reading of the prenuptial agreement. Oliver picked up immediately and Felicity watched his placid expression grow dark.

"Got it," he said after a moment. He hung up. "I have to go." He was pushing away from the table before his lawyer could even look properly insulted by the sudden departure.

Oliver's abrupt mood change made it clear that, whatever it was, it was serious. But that irrational little thing sprung up in her in that moment—that thing that wanted to fight him just out of old habit. Was it really just that? Was it old habit or was it something more akin to childish instinct for attention? It didn't matter. She followed him out of the conference room anyway.

"Oliver, we're in the middle of—"

"I have to go," he repeated. He didn't turn to look at her. He didn't even break his stride. And that made her angry.

"You agreed to this time. We talked about this. We both agreed that we wanted this done as quickly as—"

"I know Felicity, but I have to go. Something's come up." Again, no turn, no break in stride.

"That seems to happen a lot lately! What is so important that you constantly have to be running away when—"

He stopped abruptly, turning on her before she could stop herself. He was ready for the collision though because his hands landed on her hips, forcing her to a halt. The look on his face was one that she recognized—it was the look of impatience and controlled frustration that parents wore when their children simply didn't understand that they were being ridiculous with their little temper tantrums. He'd used that look on her quite a few times when he'd simply had enough of whatever fight she'd decided to pick that day. He'd never quite figured out that that look only served to fuel her anger.

"Felicity. This is important. I have to go. We'll finish this—"

"Another time? Oliver, how much longer are we going to drag this out?"

"Not a lot longer. I just have to…" He released his hold on her and began to turn away.

It wasn't a big deal. They wouldn't have squared it all away, papers signed and everything in one night anyway. She knew that. But she still reached for him, grabbing his wrist. "Oliver, you may have been out there fighting God knows what or God knows who, but I was _here_ living in a hellish-state of being married to an empty space beside me. I need it to end."

Blue eyes turned almost black as his control disappeared. He took one step closer even as she backed away. "It's good then that the space is no longer empty. I think you can manage being married to an actual human being for a few moments longer, don't you?"

His eyes—his whole posture—scared her and still, some part of her brain was laughing hysterically at the whole thing. This _must_ have been the stupidest argument in their history—in the history of married couples. She'd reverted into a five-year-old who'd been told she'd have to wait a few more days before she could be taken to the store to buy a new teddy bear. Yet again, she'd picked a dumb fight, fought with a dumb argument, and Oliver had been the rational one. This trend was getting old and humiliating.

There were few options now. She could sigh, hang her head in shame, and walk away. She could yell at him a little longer and hope that he would walk away first. The only other option would be to do something he didn't expect. If she did it right, option three would allow her to walk away with at least the illusion of some revetments of dignity. Option three then. She closed the rest of the distance between them, colliding into his chest and wrapping her arms around him as tightly as she could.

Oliver didn't move save for heaving a big sigh. She didn't know if it was from exasperation—that's what it sounded like—or if it was just a sign that he'd given up on this strange little episode.

"Felicity."

"Yes?"

He returned her hug for a couple of seconds. "I have to go."

She let go. "We'll finish this another time." She said it as evenly as possible in a last attempt to escape from this with some measure of dignity.

Oliver shook his head. His blue eyes had cleared and he looked much less angry, but he looked tired and she could tell that she wasn't fooling him with this last attempt at saving herself from looking like the child she had been a few moments ago.

Without another word, he turned and headed for the elevator.

* * *

Thea had been sneaking glances at her for the last half-an-hour. Felicity knew that she was being quiet, but she just didn't have much to say. No. That wasn't true—she had lots to say. She trusted Thea, but there was still serious uncertainty when it came to talking about Oliver and, like it or not, that was all she could think about these days.

"You know, Oliver hated it when I watched this movie. He always used to say that it was—"

"Against your nature," Felicity finished.

Thea laughed. "Exactly."

They were quiet for a while, watching Sleeping Beauty head up the narrow stone steps to her cursed fate.

 _The first time she'd heard Oliver voice his disapproval and confusion over Thea's love of this movie, they'd been in the living room. They'd just gotten home from work—they'd been arguing in the car. She couldn't even remember what the argument had been about. All she remembered was the fact that they came home and Oliver ended the argument by simply refusing to say anything else. They found Thea in the living room, watching the movie. Oliver took off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, kissed his sister on the forehead and sat down. He just became a different person._

 _"You know she doesn't do anything, don't you speedy?" Oliver had said._

 _It was obviously a point he'd brought up before because Thea just rolled her eyes, burrowing herself into her brother's side before patting the empty space beside her. Felicity had obeyed, sitting down beside the younger Queen._

 _"This movie just goes against your nature. The whole movie she doesn't do anything," Oliver continued._

 _"I know OIlie. I happen to like her anyway," Thea had said._

 _"But you're speedy…You're the queen of running circles around us—of doing things," Oliver had said._

 _Oliver had looked over Thea's head at her then, smiling to let her know that he was doing it to tease his little sister._

 _"So, Thea, I haven't seen this one in a while. What does Sleeping Beauty do exactly?" Felicity had said._

 _It took Thea less than five seconds to reach for a pillow between them and hit her brother with it._

 _"Hey! Why aren't you hitting her?"_

 _"Because you started it Ollie," Thea had replied casually._

Prince Philip just escaped Maleficent's lair when Felicity realized Moira wasn't home."Thea, where's your mom?"

"She called just before you came over. She's working late. Walter's supposed to get in on a late flight from his business trip."

Felicity glanced at the clock beside the TV: 11:05 pm. "She's been staying late very frequently lately." Felicity said more to herself than to Thea. What time was Walter's flight supposed to come in again? Shouldn't it already have landed? Come to think of it, she hadn't really heard much from Walter since he'd left for the trip early last week. It had been at least five days since she'd heard anything.

By the end of the movie, Thea was dozing. Her head was resting lightly on Felicity's chest. The rest of her was tucked into Felicity's side. Felicity didn't want to disturb her, so she decided to watch something else.

At 1:05 am, she was on some random episode of _Gossip Girl,_ trying to understand what it was that Thea raved so much about and neither Moira, Walter, nor Oliver had shown up yet. That was it. It was far too late. Felicity woke Thea gently and slowly guided her up the massive staircase to her room. With Thea securely in bed, she headed to Raisa's room. The door was open and Raisa was watching a documentary.

"Hey Raisa, will you just keep an eye out on Thea for me? No one's come home yet, so I'm just going to run by the office to get Moira away from the paperwork."

Raisa looked away from the television screen, smiling warmly. "Of course, Miss Felicity."

"You don't have to do anything. She's a teenager. I just want to know that someone's looking out for her."

"Of course Miss Felicity. You go. I'll take care of Miss Thea."

* * *

The whole of Queen Consolidated was quiet—and dark—but, for once, it wasn't eerie. After multiple childish outbursts over the past few days, she had reached her limit with childishness. The only thing that she could imagine springing out of the darkness now was perhaps Oliver again, complete with a lame excuse about having every right to sneak about his own building in the early hours of the morning. But that wasn't going to be the case. If Oliver was doing anything good for him, he'd probably be out with Tommy right about now. That would be ideal.

The closest office to the elevators on the top floor was Walter's, but that was obviously dark. There was a faint light coming from the place where Moira's office was.

"Moira you really sh—" The words died in her throat, replaced instead by air that suddenly didn't know how to travel through her.

Moira stood behind her desk, tense and afraid. The hooded guy stood before her, his bow drawn; the arrowhead pointed right to Moira's heart. His head had turned towards her, but she couldn't discern anything of his face. Just as a couple of nights ago in the lawyer's office with Oliver, she had limited options. She could turn and run, luring the madman away from Moira and hopefully giving her enough time to call the building security. Problem: she didn't know how fast the man could aim and shoot and she wasn't keen on the possibility of him releasing the arrow on Moira before pursuing her. She could also try and reach into her dress pocket for her phone; all she would have to do was reach a button that would automatically call the police. Problem: same as before.

"Leave! My business is with her, not you," the man said. His voice was too deep to belong to a normal human tone. Voice modulator. Smart.

She glanced over at Moira, who nodded. It was perfect, really. She could leave and call for help, but the man would know that she would do that and then what? What would happen to Moira in those few precious moments?

"No. I think I'll stay."

"Felicity please—" Moira began.

"I said _leave_!" The hooded man shifted at incredible speed, turning his whole body—drawn bow and all—towards her.

 _Bang!_ A shot rang out. The man's shoulder sagged. The bow fell just as the arrow was let loose. "No!" He yelled. But Felicity hadn't been standing directly in front of him and the arrow _wooshed_ a few inches past her shoulder.

 _Bang_! The glass of the wall shattered some distance from her—closer to where the hooded man was standing. Felicity was already down, holding her hands above her head. The man ducked as well, reaching for her.

 _Bang!_ He fell. Groaning, his arm still stretched out towards her, but Felicity didn't dwell on him long. She was up in seconds, jumping over him to get to Moira whose shaking hands had let the gun now clatter to the floor.

"I'm sorry," Moira whispered frantically. "The first shot was meant to hit the glass. I didn't want to put you in harm's way. My hands just—they're shaking."

"Shhh….It's fine," Felicity whispered back, reaching inside her pocket to press the button on her phone.

"You're okay?" Moira asked, her blue eyes scanning her even as her trembling hands did the same.

"I'm okay." Felicity looked back at the place where the hooded man had fallen and let out a loud gasp. He was gone. All that was left was a small pool of blood.

Moira grasped at her phone on the edge of the desk. She dialed a quick set of numbers and then spoke. "This is Moira Queen. I'm on the 39thfloor with Felicity Queen and we need help."

They were surrounded by officers in a matter of minutes. Felicity tried calling Oliver twice but he didn't pick up. She tried Walter, but he didn't pick up either. It wasn't for her benefit. Even after recounting the story to the security guards and to the officers, Moira was still shaking. The oddest thing was, the fear had faded from her face and now, she just looked angry.

Her phone rang. Oliver.

"Oliver, you need to get to—"

"Felicity." He sounded weak, short on breath. Shit. The hooded man had already gotten to him somehow. She turned frantically towards the circle of officers surrounding Moira. "You need to get into your car. Now," Oliver finished.

"I'm safe. Where are you? I'll get help and—"

"Felicity. I need you to get to the car now. Just you. _Now!_ "

It was ludicrous—especially with nothing short of an army of officers inches away. Oliver was in danger. She needed to take at least _someone_ with her.

"Please," he added weakly.

Without saying anything to anyone she all but ran out of the room. As soon as she got to the elevator she lost the signal, but she used the time to type a quick text to Moira. **I'm so sorry. I had to go. Another emergency. I'll call when I can. –Felicity**

Oliver had asked that she come alone. He sounded hurt. Somehow, this madman had kidnapped him—that was the only explanation. The question was, why did he ask her to come without money? She called Oliver again as soon as the elevator doors opened. "Oliver, where are you?"

"Just please get to your car Felicity."

"I am," she said as she wrenched open the car door. "Where—"

The answer came from her backseat. "I'm right here."

* * *

 **A/N: So there we have it!**

 **They made some significant steps towards friendship and then...well...**

 **The good news is that we'll get into Oliver's POV next chapter! I've been looking forward to finally giving you his take on things! We'll also start seeing more of the other characters as Felicity is now in on the whole thing.**

 **For those of you who are still reading, thank you so much for being patient with me as I finished my college degree.**

 **Tell me what you think! And see you next chapter!**


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